


Living Past the End

by theabbeygrange



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theabbeygrange/pseuds/theabbeygrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin had never been able to erase the vision of Arthur’s suffering from his mind – knowing that Arthur felt responsible – and understanding that the fault lie solely upon himself. </p><p>He could've ended Arthur’s torture. </p><p>Now, it's far too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Just another day in paradise…

The brilliant sun streamed through a clear blue sky and hints of golden rays reflected happily off of the sea. The rolling waves and tropical birds combined in a harmonious and calming symphony as the wind breezed through the palm trees and kissed the faces of travelers, honeymooners, and the few residents of this serene little village.

Tenerife was a well-known island in the Canaries. It was also home to one of the smallest magical communities in the world. Practically no one lived there, save a few residents whose livelihoods revolved entirely around the rather lucrative tourist industry. They could charge the highest prices if only because this place, while thoroughly natural, achieved a perfection that could only be described as magical. Ironically enough, those in the magical world would gladly pay an exorbitant sum for a getaway from the perfection of their “charmed” lives. And Tenerife was perfect.

... Almost.

If there was one thing William Penn loved about Tenerife, it was the morning sunrise. He found solace in its beauty and steadfastness. The sun was there every morning, peaking over the golden waves, brightening a life that had been touched by so much darkness. 

He sat on the weathered teak swing he’d occupied for four years. His feet were kicked up on the patio railing, the gauzy curtains from the small cottage blowing in the morning breeze outward onto the terrace and brushing against his legs. He sipped his tea and leaned his head back against the cottage wall.

He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the island. The swing rocked in harmony with the rolling waves in the distance. The wings of tropical birds brushed against the warm air as they playfully glided from one fruit laden tree to another. Will drew a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scents of the tropics.

This was yet another perfect day in paradise. At least, that’s what it should have been. But it wasn’t. Nature’s irony never ceased to amaze him. This was the fourth Victory day he’d spent in paradise. Every one was equally as perfect as the one before – and equally as heartbreaking.

His name wasn’t really William Penn. It was Merlin Emrys. And this was the only day of the year he allowed himself to remember who he was, what he had, and, regretfully, what he’d thrown away. Although most days he enjoyed his surroundings for what they seemed, on this day he saw them for what they were: this wasn’t his paradise. It was his prison.

A battered box sat benignly on the patio, its contents scattered about the veranda. He swept a tear from his eyes as he leaned forward to the small table before him. It was stacked with tattered scrapbooks and photo albums. From the top of the stack, an animated photo beckoned him. His lips twisted into a pain filled smile as he lifted the album from its resting place and looked through the opening at a snapshot in time; another time… a better time.

It was a time without grief, loss, heartache, and guilt. It was a picture from their first year at Camelot. He stood in the center of the picture, surrounded by his footie mates. At the time, they had all been merely joking when they referred to themselves as the Knights of Camelot, not knowing that the moniker would later define them. His eyes were drawn, as always, to the face of his best mate, Arthur Pendragon. The two of them flashed bright smiles and laughed openly, totally unaware of the trials that lay before them; totally unaware that one fateful day, at the end of their final term, their bond would be broken forever.

The album, unlike anything else in his life, was arranged in perfect order. The closer he came to the end, the more freely the tears wet the pages, the hole in his heart opening wider as he went. His eyes fell on the last photo, taken only days before the attack. His fingers played across the figures before him.

Arthur and Lance, decked out in their rugby kits, had Merlin on each of their shoulders, their BUCS Nationals medallions gleaming in his hands. They were laughing wildly, celebrating a hard fought win against their arch nemesis Valiant Devlin and the University of the Western Isles.

He smiled in spite of the pain, remembering one of the happiest days of his life. He could look at this picture for hours; which was the exact reason he refused to allow himself to do so but once a year. He’d spent his entire life with these two. He could scarcely remember a day without them, save for the last four years.

His eyes floated from the photo album to the scrapbook lying on the table. Absentmindedly, he closed the album and let it fall from his lap. He drew a shaky breath and pulled the scrapbook toward him, clasping one hand silently over his mouth while he perused the pages he’d assembled over the last several years.

This was the first of many scrapbooks he’d prepared chronicling the lives of Arthur and The Knights since the attack. Although he’d spent his time in a decidedly remote community, “Will” had maintained subscriptions to nearly every scrap of media from the world he once knew. Habitually, he perused their pages with every new delivery looking for information, a new photo, a press release, a tenuous connection to those he’d lost. The sum of that information was meticulously assembled into these scrapbooks for his easy reference, even if he only allowed himself access to the clippings once a year.

Wiping a tear from his cheek, he broke into a wide smile. This picture never failed to elicit such a response. He stared down at a blue-clad Will Waters as he raced around the photo, a football trailing before his feet. He’d been signed with Chelsea FC as a midfielder shortly after the celebrations and press conferences had ended. Merlin always wondered if it was his talent or new-found notoriety that had opened that door. In reality, he didn’t care. Will was playing footie for his childhood dream team and Merlin didn’t think he’d ever sported a broader smile across his face. It gave him as much warmth as it did pain. He continued to flip the pages, looking at page after page of articles relating to Will.

Clearly, he’d been amiably accessible in the months after the defeat and the media gravitated toward his boyish charm and willingness to tell the story. It was the reason, Merlin believed, that he was featured so prominently in so many publications. Will had finally become as famous as Arthur Pendragon… sort of.

Although Will’s face peppered the pages of Merlin’s scrapbook with far more regularity, it was obvious that the sudden mysteriousness of his other best mate made for far more intriguing stories. The papers speculated ad nausea about Arthur. Where was he? What was he doing? The Prince continued to attract attention if only by his conspicuous absence from the public eye. It didn’t help Merlin’s efforts to keep up with him either, as he had no closer view of him than the paparazzi would allow.

Will’s notoriety not only led him to a professional football career but seemed to lead him to love as well. Merlin had seen it coming. The largest, most flattering spreads of Will and his post-war life had come from the pages of _The Camelot Courier_. Freya Kaye had joined her father and ran the magazine as co-editor in chief. It wasn’t difficult to see the workings of rather biased journalism, so it was no surprise to Merlin the day that Will and Freya’s faces graced the cover with an announcement of their betrothal. 

Tenerife was remote but it wasn’t entirely cut off from the rest of the world. Freya and Will’s wedding was such an event that it was broadcast worldwide. “Will” lasted through several assaults from his island acquaintances about how “girly” he was behaving; after all, “who cries that profusely over some famous guy’s wedding?” Although he’d watched the ceremony with other interested parties at the local pub, his thoughts never drifted from the man one step to Will’s right.

The wedding and the photography that came from it produced the only significant information to come of Arthur for the last four years. He’d done a phenomenal job of staying aloof and unapproachable. By Merlin’s account, neither hide nor hair was seen of Arthur Pendragon for at least eighteen months after the attack. For as much as he seemingly avoided the public altogether, he could not escape the media frenzy that surrounded Will’s wedding. Merlin often wondered if Will had noticed that snapshot photos and speculative articles about Arthur eclipsed the coverage of his own nuptials in every publication but _The Courier_.

It had only been in recent months that he’d seen more of Arthur’s face in the papers. The clippings generally depicted him with a diplomatic smile when he was cornered or a lost expression when he was photographed unawares. Something about that comforted Merlin. He had always felt they’d shared so much – loneliness was just another similarity.

He sat back in his chair, his throat constricting the air from his windpipes. He picked up a black scrapbook from the table, not bothering to see if he’d chosen the right one. He knew he had. He knew the feel of this book, the texture, the size. He knew every picture and detail within it and he knew what he’d see when he opened its front cover.

He drew a breath and mustered the courage to take the last step in his annual reflection.

As the scrapbook fell open in his lap, his eyes fell upon the familiar beaming faces of Arthur and The Knights – and himself. Perhaps it was the selfishness in him, but he always set his eyes upon the school photo of himself that appeared in the upper right-hand corner of the article. After silently admonishing the fact that he was less than photogenic, he read the headline and the accompanying article he’d nearly committed to memory.

# The End of an Era

 _The final defeat of the Cailleach came in a ferocious battle that laid destruction upon the very school so many believed ancient magic would do its best to protect. Under the Cailleach’s direction, a veritable army of Dorocha attacked Camelot University only days ago. Students, some as young as sixteen, were forced to fight against dark magic they couldn’t hope to defeat. Astonishingly, the whole of the student body protected themselves quite admirably. Of all the causalities that stained the school grounds, the fall of Merlin Emrys seems especially difficult._  
　　  
_Merlin Emrys was one of a (now legendary) pack of Camelot students. He, along with Prince Arthur Pendragon and their motley crew of Knights had an inseparable bond. “You never saw one without the other,” remarked schoolmate Guinevere Smith. “Arthur and the rest were a bit protective of Merlin. If anyone bothered him, they answered to them.” Other students spoke equally of the devotion the two shared for each other. That devotion may have even blossomed into something more._  
　　  
_“We gave it a go during our freshers year,” remarked Will Waters. “It didn’t work out on a romantic level. I think we just decided that our friendship meant too much to us to force something that wasn’t there.” When asked about any romantic interludes between Merlin and the Pendragon heir,_ The Essetir Epitaph _was unable to secure a comment from HRH the Prince._  
　　  
_“I think I’ll always wonder about that,” said Mr. Waters with a shaking voice, “I always thought he was waiting until after graduation to… well… now we’ll never know.”_  
　　  
_Sadly, the world never will know._  
　　  
_As the battle exploded on the grounds of Camelot, Arthur, Merlin, and the Knights found themselves face to face with the Cailleach herself. They fought her together, as they had fought everything. Amid the flurry of battle, the historic castle housing the university’s magicks department was destroyed. Arthur walked away from the destruction with the Cailleach’s splintered staff in his hands and his Knights behind him. Mr. Emrys’s body – after a thorough search of the grounds – was never recovered. The dusty remains of his clothing and a few personal items were unearthed from the rubble, bloodstained and tattered. After four weeks of intensive searching and investigation, Mr. Emrys has been officially declared dead by Scotland Yard._

The tears were flowing freely down his cheeks. There was nothing quite like reading about your own death, especially when it hadn't actually happened. Compulsively, he flipped the page to the next article. This was as far as his journey ever took him; he could never make it past this page. He couldn’t stand the guilt. He couldn’t stand himself.

# Goodbye, Merlin

_Merlin Emrys was memorialised on the recently reconstructed grounds of Camelot University this afternoon. Although clearly intended to be a private ceremony, it quickly became a media event. Hundreds, if not thousands of people – all of whom had no doubt paid close attention during the fateful search – lined the gates and the mountainous trail to the overlook where the ceremony took place. Mourners threw flowers along the path as both students and professors, led by Emrys’s childhood best friends Prince Arthur Pendragon and Will Waters, walked the solemn trail to the summit._  


_A simple stone monument sits atop the crest with this inscription: “In Memoriam, Merlin Emrys, a talented student, loving son, and cherished friend – you were integral in our lives, inseparable in our hearts, and live forever in our memory. Rest in peace.”_

Merlin couldn’t stop staring at the many pictures of Arthur. He looked cold and emotionless. He walked quietly alongside Will and never appeared to shed a single tear. His demeanor had given Merlin pause when he’d first summoned the courage to look at the photos. He’d always felt that there had been something more hiding just beneath the surface. But in these initial clippings, his “death” didn’t seem to faze Arthur in the least. For the longest time, he was actually angered that Ewan’s death a few months before Merlin’s own had elicited a stream of emotion he never saw in these pictures. But that anger turned to grief and guilt approximately two years later when a little-known picture surfaced from the ceremony. He’d clipped it and posted it in the scrapbook next to the article. It appeared to be taken after the ceremony had ended and everyone dispersed.

Arthur was on one knee at the foot of the monument, his hand grasping the top for support. In his free hand dangled a large circular pendant on a silver chain. Merlin immediately recognised it as the sigil that Arthur had given him before the battle. It had belonged to his mother. “I want you to take this,” he’d looked solemn as he removed the pendant from below his shirt and pressed it into Merlin’s open palm. “If I don’t come back, Merlin, you have to –“ he’d never finished that sentence. Merlin hadn’t given him the chance. 

They’d argued then, about destinies and prophecies and the fact that Arthur couldn’t order Merlin around like a servant - of course he wasn’t going to wait there like some bloody queen awaiting her king’s return from battle!

But Arthur's anguished face in that photo… that was the image that burned through the pages of Merlin’s memory. He’d never been able to erase the vision of Arthur’s suffering from his mind – knowing that Arthur felt responsible – and understanding that the fault lie solely upon himself. 

He could've ended Arthur’s torture. 

Now, it's far too late.


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin had never felt this awful in his life. If his body’s incessant screaming was any indication, he wasn’t entirely sure he still had a life to speak of. Every muscle in his body ached. His head swam amid a churning mire of viscous oblivion. He couldn’t grasp a thought, a memory, or even a vignette of reality before it slipped through his fingers, leaving him bobbing in a sea of darkness. He fought to open his eyes. The piercing light of an unknown dwelling sent a shockwave through his fleeting consciousness as he felt himself drift away from shore.

"Rest. You need your rest,” a stranger’s voice rang in his ears. He felt a rustle of blankets over him and the touch of a delicate hand, apparently checking a dressing along his arm. Believing an illness to have lowered the school nurse’s voice an octave or two, he complied with the request and allowed himself to float back out to sea.

The first thing he’d noticed upon waking was the throbbing in his body. It felt good. It didn’t burn, it didn’t pierce, it didn’t explode with pain as his chest rose and fell with the rhythm of his respiration. It was markedly different from how he’d felt for… however long he’d been here.

Wherever “here” was.

He drew in a breath, relishing in his ability to do so without wincing, and opened his eyes to the outside world. Fear lodged itself in his chest as vague memories of a devastating battle flashed through his mind and he realised he had no idea where he was or who had captured him.

Lethargic and unwilling muscles allowed him to creep his way into a sitting position. He gently moved toward the headboard of the bed and gathered the coverings around him. Pausing to take a brief look underneath, he was thoroughly relieved to see he was fully dressed in pajamas that were a few sizes too large. His eyes darted around the room, looking for some semblance of familiarity.

Nothing was familiar.

Fear turned to panic as the door opened with an ominous creak.

Instinctively, Merlin reached for his magic but found he had none to reach for. Realising just as quickly that he was unarmed, he scrambled as quickly as he could to the corner of the room, dragging the blankets along with him. To say he was a bit surprised by the face that greeted him would’ve been an understatement.

It was a face he didn’t know, but was clearly of a kind nature. An elderly man – likely sixty or seventy years old – was bustling in with a tray in his hands. An anguished look crossed his face when he saw Merlin cowering in the corner of the room. He quickly put the tray down as his silvery long hair fell over his shoulders. His piercing blue eyes played against his wrinkled complexion and he stepped back toward the door cautiously. His demeanor reminded Merlin so strongly of his mother that he couldn’t help but relax, if only a little bit.

“There’s nothing to fear, child. I won’t hurt you.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Gaius.”

Merlin studied Gaius’s expression, casting a fleeting glance between the old man and the now open doorway. Gaius followed his eyes hesitantly. “You are welcome to leave if you wish but I do not think your body will agree with you. You appear to have been through a terrible ordeal.”

“What happened to me?”

“I can’t answer that,” he said softly. “I don’t rightly know. I was walking along the forest trail, picking wild berries for preserves and found you lying there.” Merlin remained silent. “I must apologise for some of your cuts. I’m an old man and it took everything I had to drag you back to my home.” Merlin glanced at himself tucked under the blankets and felt that a few cuts were likely the least of his concern. However, something from the man’s statement raised new suspicion.

“You dragged me? So you’re not a… you’re a…” He looked for the right words to say but wasn’t sure how to go about it. If the man didn't possess any magic he’d likely not understand what Merlin was trying to ask him. Luckily, he didn’t have to ask the question at all.

“I used to practise magic,” he said quietly.

Merlin furrowed his brow, wondering how anyone could “used to be” a sorcerer. The confusion on his face caused Gaius to smile warmly. “Well, I guess I’m technically still a sorcerer. But I’ve not used magic or associated with it in nearly twenty years.”

“What happened to Arthur?”

Gaius’s face darkened and he looked at Merlin regretfully. Merlin’s heart sank through the floor. Before he could ask the obvious question, Gaius pulled a newspaper from the bookshelf next to the door. “I don’t go to the village very often. It’s miles away and makes for a long walk but, invariably, I have to get some stores for the house.” He hesitantly handed Merlin the folded newspaper. He recognised it immediately as _The Essetir Epitaph_. “I haven’t read this publication in years, but I couldn’t help but notice the headline.”

Merlin took the paper and unfolded it. He felt light-headed almost immediately and stumbled back a few steps. Gaius caught him by the arm and steered him toward the bed where Merlin, in utter disbelief, read about a beautiful memorial service in his honour.

“I’m sorry, Merlin. It appears Albion has already bid you farewell,” Gaius apologised.

He helped a stunned Merlin back under the covers and continued to help him for the next several days. By Gaius and Merlin’s estimations (Gaius paid little attention to the passing of time), Merlin had been in this small forest cottage for nearly three weeks. Gaius had used every trick in his books to keep Merlin alive the first week he’d been with him. The following two weeks saw Merlin fading in and out of consciousness, Gaius growing ever more concerned with his emaciating body. Gaius had been unable to wake him and therefore unable to feed Merlin anything he couldn’t pour down his throat. Over the past several days, Gaius had seen the colour slowly return to Merlin’s features and waited patiently for him to wake.

He later admitted to Merlin that he was rather taken aback by their first conscious introduction. He’d had no company for so long that even a young man out cold was a welcome conversationalist. Gaius had talked to him about everything, forgetting that Merlin had heard none of it. By the time he’d awoken, Gaius had considered Merlin something of a close friend. It didn’t take long for Merlin to return the sentiment; however, it wasn’t lost on him that the conversation never revolved around Gaius’s past or his chosen life of solitude.

The first indication Merlin knew he’d felt better was the day he’d asked Gaius about it, point blank.

“Gaius, if you have magic, why don’t you use it anymore?”

Silence.

Merlin turned from the sink, dishtowel in hand, to see Gaius staring absently into space. He’d suddenly felt like he’d crossed a line that was not meant to be crossed. “Sorry,” Merlin said sincerely. “That’s none of my business.”

“I forgot who I was.”

“Sorry?”

“I had forgotten me.” Gaius’s face warmed. “I was so independent, so self-sufficient, and it had all gone away. I didn’t do a thing without Uther and he rarely did anything without me.” Merlin put the dishtowel down and gingerly walked to the table, settling in across from the former sorcerer. “We’d been attached at the hip for years, ever since we met during our first year at Eton.”

“You knew the King?” Merlin interrupted.

Gaius nodded his head. “It came to a point after we left university and I had been given a position on his staff that I found myself unable to make a decision without consulting him first.” His face turned bitter. “Maybe it was him, maybe it was me. Or maybe it was simply his mounting distrust of magic. I don’t know. But I looked back on my life and couldn’t remember any of it for the glaring picture of Uther before me.”

“You gave your magic up for him.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Gaius scoffed. “I was foolish. I thought I could foster a trusting relationship between the magical community and the King. But it was not so. ” His voice grew dark. “For Uther, trust was ensuring I was at his beck and call. It was taking my identity and shaping it to suit his whims. Trust was ‘protecting’ me without my consent by keeping tabs on everyone I spoke to and everywhere I went. The times I let myself break through, we fought… he won.”

Merlin was compelled to say something, but he was at a loss for words. He had the impression that Gaius hadn’t spoken about this to many people and now that he had opened the dam the waters were flooding outward uncontrollably. “Let’s just say magic freed me from that relationship and allowed me to find myself again. But, I rarely knew a life with magic that didn’t remind me of Uther’s hatred. And every reminder of it erased more of the soul I was trying to find.” Gaius sipped the tea he’d been absently stirring.

“Sometimes, divine opportunity is just too good to pass up. I was tired of being known as the King’s muzzled pet sorcerer. I just wanted to be me.”

Merlin spent the next few days considering what Gaius had said. The ending sentences of their conversation sounded so appealing to him. When was the last time anyone recognised him as just Merlin?

He couldn’t remember.

He’d not felt like Merlin Emrys in years. He was one of two, best mate of the Prince. Throughout his final year at uni he’d become convinced that his first name was “Arthurand” and his last name had been changed to “Merlin”. It had increasingly unnerved him throughout the year but he had not spoken of it. Holding it in only increased his aggravation.

The few times he thought to strike out on his own and just disappear for a while, Arthur, of all people, went through the roof. Since the end of their relationship, Will had actually seemed less interested in Merlin’s whereabouts than ever. Arthur, on the other hand, wanted to know exactly where he was at every point of the day. Heaven forbid Merlin arrive ten minutes late for supper – he was likely to have to call off the search party Arthur had sent into the forest on his behalf.

As their final year progressed, he’d continued to justify Arthur’s over-protective tendencies. He knew the attack was coming, he knew that Arthur was worried. But, overall, he knew Arthur just didn’t want the guilt of someone else’s death on his head. So he’d made Merlin’s life miserable; chasing after him, always asking where he was, where he was going, when he would be back. He was certain Arthur would make a wonderful father one day – he kept better tabs on Merlin than even his own parents could have.

He scoffed at the first thoughts he’d had upon waking. Aside from the obvious “where am I?” the next question that had formed in his head was “where’s Arthur? Did he survive?” He’d asked himself about Arthur’s wellbeing before he’d even inventoried his own. The longer he ruminated over the last four years of danger, loss, and grief the more determined he became to do something about it. As Gaius had said: sometimes divine opportunity is too good to pass up.

Merlin had returned to his room later that evening fighting the same feeling of bitterness that had filled him since reading of his own death. In the blink of an eye (at least to him anyway) Arthur, Will, and the whole of the world had thrown a few flowers at a stone and moved on without him. His anger was the sole purpose he’d stayed with Gaius for as long as he had. He flopped back onto the bed, his eyes falling across the newspaper he’d now committed to memory, when his heart began to pound with the adrenaline of a reckless idea.

“Divine opportunity,” he whispered.

Merlin couldn’t believe the thoughts his own mind was forming. The idea of miraculously returning from the dead turned his stomach. He couldn’t imagine the press conferences, the paparazzi, the wild stories of “Arthurand Merlin” that would be told again and again until his truncated name became more entrenched in every household.

After the initial shock of seeing himself passed on and memorialised on the front page, he felt something new – something different. He felt free. He felt reckless. He felt like he had the opportunity of a lifetime.

Gaius appeared in the doorway with a few freshly laundered items and quickly bustled over and sat down upon seeing the look on Merlin’s face. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked concernedly.

“I think I need some time alone,” Merlin said absently. Silently, Gaius rose from the bed to leave. Merlin caught his arm and looked into his cool blue eyes. “No,” he clarified. “I want to remember who I am. I want to rediscover Merlin Emrys.” Gaius looked at him inquiringly. “Where can ‘he’ go to do that?” he asked, jabbing his finger at the picture of himself plastered on the Epitaph’s front page.

“I know just the place.” Gaius smiled.

That was how Merlin had come to find paradise. When he’d first learned of Tenerife, he was excited beyond measure. It was a magical community but it was so far removed from the mainstream he could live a life devoid of disguises. After several months there, his changing appearance was disguise enough. His hair grew longer while his skin took on a sun-kissed glow. A diet consisting of grilled poultry, seafood, an abundance of fruit, and a tendency to walk everywhere he went caused him to become markedly lean and toned. There was a small university on the island that specialised in healing magic and would allow Merlin the chance to continue his studies while trying to reconnect with who he was. In uncharacteristic Merlin Emrys fashion, he formed a plan that he implemented flawlessly.

Collect a few things – necessities only – and move to the Canaries.

Enroll in university – take a job in a local library or bookshop that would allow ample time to multitask on the job.

Get a quaint flat – nothing too expensive.

Find yourself.

Return to Albion renewed and refreshed and set the media straight.

If Merlin had learned anything from this experience, it was that he was not always right. Being wrong was not a state of being he was used to, but in this case he was not only wrong, he was dead wrong. He’d relied on his own logic and intellect and completely refused to listen to those annoying and superfluous nagging thoughts that revolved around emotion. He never stopped to consider anyone else’s feelings (namely Arthur and Will’s). He never fully understood that the implementation of this plan meant allowing them to believe he was dead. He never once considered that “finding yourself” might not be something easily checked off of a list. What’s more, he never once allowed his heart to override his mind and convince him that he was never lost in the first place.

That took nearly two years.

He’d never forget the day he realised the devastating and self-inflicted truth.

He couldn’t be Merlin Emrys without Arthur.

* * *

 “Thank you, Professor!” Merlin chirped as he snatched his paper from her open hand and flew from the classroom.

He’d received the highest score on their final exam and nearly skipped across the tropical campus. He’d worked relentlessly on this thesis, having made little progress until reminiscing one night. He thought of Arthur’s inability to locate the proper flower after Merlin had been poisoned during their first year at Camelot and how diligent Arthur had apparently been in the library searching for the answer. He thought about some of the books Arthur and Will had sifted through during that time and realised the answer to his own premise could be found in the properties of the Morteous flower. He sat down, pen in hand, and wrote furiously until the thesis was complete mere hours later.

As he burst into his one bedroom flat, he had one purpose in mind: he just _had_ to tell Arthur the great news. He thought of his smile. He thought of how his eyes would twinkle when he was especially proud of something Merlin had done. He could nearly feel Arthur gathering him up for a congratulatory hug. He threw his books down and gathered a breath to call for him.

And then he remembered.

He stood in the middle of his flat feeling dizzy from emotion and gazed at his surroundings. Arthur wasn’t here. He’d never been here. Nothing in Merlin’s flat held a memory of his previous life; he’d seen to that. Nothing in the room was reminiscent of who he really was, what he really wanted from life. Suddenly, nothing looked familiar.

This wasn’t his home. How could it be? This home was nothing but a façade that he tried to convince everyone was real. It held no life, it held no love, and it held no friendship as he’d known it. He’d fashioned a new life for himself but it was a life unlike any he’d known or wanted. Over the years, he’d tried to convince himself that Merlin Emrys hadn’t died; he lived on, just under a different name. For as much as he argued that _this_ Merlin was better, stronger, and improved, the ironic truth crashed into him just as waves break along the shore.

When he left Albion he’d abandoned the only person that made him who he was. In trying to find himself, he’d lost everything. As he looked around the room he realised he couldn’t be himself if he couldn’t share it with Arthur.

He didn’t understand the implications of his epiphany at the time. It took several weeks of honest (and heartbreaking) introspection to be able to admit what his realisation meant.

He loved Arthur. More so than that, he was in love with him.

When he eventually voiced the words aloud, the truth behind them became undeniable and even more tragic. Thereafter, he spent nearly every waking hour reliving and categorising every moment he and Arthur had spent together, searching for the answer to the question his heart continued to ask.

It didn’t take long to figure it out.

He thought back over their years at Camelot, that last year burning most clearly in his mind – Arthur’s annoyingly over-protective demeanor, his anguished expression at Merlin’s memorial service, his disappearance from society shortly thereafter. It was then that Merlin realised, with increasing despair, that Arthur had loved him as well.

And Merlin had thrown it away.

He’d spent the next several months obsessed with finding out about Arthur. He’d purchased subscriptions to every periodical he could think of and perused every new book that came into the small bookshop where he worked. Finding practically nothing about Arthur, he settled for cutting out every article about Will – of which there were so many more. He assembled scrapbooks and photo albums. He listened to the radio (when the wind blew just right and you could hear through the static). He studied every picture, every word printed about either of them. He joined in on the speculation about Arthur’s whereabouts and his mysterious disappearance from the public eye.

Merlin had his own theories.

Arthur had finally taken on his official duties as prince. Merlin was sure of it. Will had landed himself a high profile career. Arthur was already high profile enough. He’d defeated the greatest dark sorceress of their time. Hell, he may have even become a secret agent (he'd deny it, but Arthur had always been inordinately fond of Bond) – hence the reason he stayed out of the public eye. But that wasn’t the kind of job that flourished when you’re plastered on the front page. Whatever Arthur was up to, Merlin knew that it must’ve required the sort of inconspicuous quality that kept Arthur noticeably absent from the media. Of that, Merlin had no doubt. He tried not to think of everything else.

Will had obviously found love. The photos of him and Freya broadcast their happiness for all of the world to see. Rarely did Merlin happen upon a snapshot that didn’t show them hand-in-hand or thoroughly wrapped in each other’s presence. Even pictures of Freya alone showed her devotion to Will; not that the rest of the world would’ve noticed, but she’d been photographed in at least four of his old t-shirts. In truth, Merlin was glad they were such a high profile couple; it allowed him to concentrate on Will’s love life rather than speculate about Arthur’s.

Or at least it had for a few glorious minutes.

He never ceased to wonder about Arthur. Will had fallen in love and gotten married. Surely, Arthur couldn’t have been far behind. He’d appeared as Avalon’s Most Eligible Bachelor for the two years following the Cailleach’s defeat. His recent lack of presence in that column tended to make Merlin wonder if Arthur was still a bachelor. Given his aversion to making a spectacle of himself, any pending engagement between him and the lucky girl would likely have been a well-guarded secret.

Merlin snapped the scrapbook closed and let out a sigh of frustration.

The lucky _girl_.

For as much as Merlin liked to convince himself that Arthur had pined away for him and subjected himself to a life of misery similar to Merlin’s own, he knew better. Arthur’s fleeting coverage in the papers had shown him with no less than four girls over the course of the last two years. Several of them showed up in multiple pictures (all with great speculation as to the validity of the relationship). Although they’d never mustered an affirmative comment from the prince, Merlin had seen the look on Arthur’s face when he was with her.

Her.

He fought the urge to call this unnamed woman any number of inappropriate names. She was the latest of Arthur’s interests. Merlin had seen them together in a few pictures - all taken at a distance and clearly without the permission of the subjects. But the speculation ran amok in every periodical but _The Courier_. Merlin had no idea who she was but he hated her nonetheless.

The last time he’d laid eyes on the pair in print was only a month ago. Arthur and Mithian (so the newspaper reported) were holding hands, perusing the shop windows downtown. They ambled along the cobblestoned sidewalk together, not appearing to notice the heads that turned in their direction. If anything convinced Merlin to implement Plan B, that picture was the perfect catalyst.

He’d long since realised the idiocy of his first plan and finally decided to follow through with the next one; a logical one, but one that considered the emotions he’d ignored the first time around. He’d been “dead” for two years. He’d evaporated from the public eye entirely. Only a sidebar column in Victory Day papers would mention him anymore, usually in tandem with a comment about his parents’ untimely deaths. He’d been laid to rest and everyone had moved on. He couldn’t, in good conscience, appear on Arthur’s doorstep with a thoroughly inadequate apology for allowing him to think he had been murdered for the last two years. Assuming Arthur would recover from the coronary, he’d certainly never speak to Merlin again. The mere thought of Arthur hating him was more than he could stand. He’d rather live a self-deprecating life and leave Arthur with the memories of a best friend who would never have willingly left his side rather than allow him to see what Merlin had become. He’d searched his soul and determined there was only one course of action to take; only one was humane. It wasn’t really much of a plan at all.

He wouldn’t go back, if only because he couldn’t.

He made his residence in Tenerife permanent and stopped dreaming of the day he would return. He packed up the photo albums and scrapbooks he’d assembled and cancelled the subscriptions he’d maintained. He bought ownership in the small bookshop where he worked and ensured every scrap of parchment with his name on it would reflect William Penn rather than his given name. He’d decided to let Merlin Emrys rest in peace and set out to make the most of the life he’d subjected himself to. Only one day a year – the anniversary of his “death” – would he allow a self-memorial and drag all the memorabilia out.

It wasn’t so bad. He only cried himself to sleep for the first few months. Realising he had to pull himself together, he threw his thoughts into his work and his studies. Will Penn was much more successful in the classroom than Merlin Emrys had ever been. He became so good at mental diversionary tactics that he rarely thought of his old life during the waking hours.

The night, however, was a bit more difficult.

His subconscious, obviously feeling neglected during the daylight, thought of nothing but Arthur all night. Although it hadn’t gotten much easier over the course of the last two years, he repeated the same mantra endlessly in his mind:

This is the way it has to be.

And so it was.


	3. Chapter 3

“Will?” A voice called from the stockroom behind the till.

“Yes?” He answered.

“Have you seen the packing list for the latest shipment?”

“Yes, I’ve already filed it. I inventoried those books last night; they just need to be set out.”

“I should’ve known,” his manager grumbled as she rounded the corner from the stockroom. She had an amiable demeanor. She was shorter than Merlin and appeared to be about the same age. She had wild blonde hair, wide blue eyes, and a life of splendor in Tenerife had graced her with a permanent golden tan. Merlin had always felt very comfortable with her; she had a bubbly disposition that reminded him of Gwen. While she possessed a sharp tongue, it was obvious that she was only having a go at him (most of the time). She looked at the storefront and stopped. “What do you think about changing the window display?”

“I think the self-proclaimed ‘Witchfinder’ has completely lost his ability to draw people into the shop,” he answered without looking up from his magical healing text.

“Well, it would help if his books weren’t all about frogs,” she answered moodily. Merlin merely smiled. Aredian was proof that falling from a tower did wonders for one’s creative mind. “I have a sneaking suspicion he might’ve used a bit of poetic license in some of his early works.”

“Elena!” A male voice billowed from the back door.

“What?” She returned an equally boisterous response.

“We’re going to be late! Get a move on, woman!” Merlin couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped when she began mouthing the exact words as her husband barked them through the shop.

“Keep your knickers on; I’m coming!” She smiled across the counter at Merlin, who quickly returned his eyes to his text. He knew what was coming next: the same speech he’d gotten for the last four years. “No plans tonight?”

“No,” Merlin said flatly. Elena merely sighed and looked between the open door to the stockroom and the window display.

“Well, if your social calendar will allow it, do you think you can work on the display tonight?”

“Yes,” he replied. "I’m completely disinterested in the fifty-seven medicinal uses for fruit bat feces.” He slapped his book closed and adjusted his Enchanted Escapes apron as he slid from the stool.

“Thanks! You’re a doll!” She gave him a fleeting kiss on the cheek before she swept out of the back door. The lock clicked softly and Merlin stretched the muscles in his neck that had grown stiff while he studied.

A few minutes later he was clearing Aredian’s latest book, _My Life as an Amphibian_ , from the storefront and wrestling a large crate from the storeroom. He pried it open and pulled out their newest acquisition. Merlin knew what the box contained, but this was the first time he’d mustered the courage to lay eyes on it. It was an autobiography of the now famous author (and ambassador for magic to the Crown) Morgana le Faye. Merlin stared at the front cover as he studied a rather formidable looking picture of her. The photo summarised much of what he knew about his former friend; she was beautiful and determined, young, but aged by a tragic experience that had come too young. He fought the urge to flop onto the floor and begin reading.

Merlin stepped up onto the platform of the window display and began to chant quietly. He changed the colour of the display walls, each time judging the effect against the book jacket. He arranged several books on staggered display shelves and set the promotional poster in an ornate frame and placed it on an easel. After moving every part of the display several times and changing the angle of the spotlight, he finally hopped down and walked out onto the street to assess the final product.

Standing back from the window, he smiled at the arrangement he’d created. A clap of thunder startled his eyes skyward and he decided to move the sidewalk bargains into the store lest they be ruined by the approaching summer storm.

Perhaps it was the ominous nature of the darkening sky. Perhaps it was the involuntary response he now harboured toward lightning (it had been storming during the battle), but he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

He’d always kept a wary eye open. Although his name had changed, his appearance wasn't terribly different than it had been at the height of his so-called fame. Tenerife was remote, but it was still a magical community. Easily a dozen people had done pretty obvious double takes when happening upon him over the years. He always brushed off their astute perception with nonchalance, indicating that he “hears that all the time” when people mention how similar he looks to the late Merlin Emrys.

But this feeling was different. It was making the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention.

He hastily gathered the books from the table and clamoured into the bookshop. The storm was sure to keep shoppers in their hotels, so it was with little hesitation that he locked the door and turned off the display lights. He took his time gathering his things from the counter and eventually left through the back alley, all the while casting suspicious glances over his shoulder. The feeling stayed with him as he hurried to his flat in the pouring rain. He opened his door and spun quickly to shut it, catching a momentary glance of a man standing across the street, enveloped in shadow.

_It can’t be,_ he thought to himself.

He cracked the door back open, peering into the adjacent alley, but the man was gone. He had probably never existed anyway. After all, storms always reminded Merlin of Arthur and he’d just been staring at Morgana’s photograph for nearly an hour. Honestly, this was nothing out of the ordinary for him. Over the last four years he’d seen Arthur everywhere. Customers in the shop, students on campus, anonymous men walking down the street. He’d seen Arthur’s face in nearly every bloke who had a similar build and blonde hair. If someone had been across the street, it was likely an old man who’d been drinking too much and gotten lost on his way home.

Resolving to wash the thoughts from his mind, Merlin ran a warm bath and sprinkled Farmer Jane’s geranium rose bath salts into the steaming water. As the tub filled, he poured himself a glass of wine and collected the novel he’d started the night before. Book in hand and glass nearby, he sank into the soothing waters and allowed himself to float into a fictional world where happily ever after was actually possible.

* * *

“So, how was your date last night?” Merlin asked as Elena unsuccessfully fought back a yawn.

“Tiring,” she replied, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Merlin shook his head and returned to his task. He walked among the bookshelves, organising the titles and straightening the tomes. Upon finishing, he resumed his perch behind the counter and pulled out a rather formidable looking potions text and several pads of paper. If there was anything he appreciated about this bookshop, it was the flexibility to work and study simultaneously.

He pulled a pen from the bag at his feet and quickly became engrossed in his assignment. He flipped the pages and scratched down notes methodically, looking away from the paper only when gazing blankly in thought. He only vaguely heard the door chime, heralding a new customer.

Usually, he greeted them quickly, but he had a tenuous hold on the sentence he was trying to formulate and thought it best to get it down before he lost his train of thought. By the time he looked up, the customer had already disappeared. They had probably left as quickly as they’d entered, which wasn’t entirely uncommon. Tenerife was, after all, a high-priced tourist spot in the Canaries. Most travellers were interested in expensive trinkets, jewellery, or native liquors. This customer was not the first to realise that Enchanted Escapes had nothing to do with skimpy lingerie and subsequently race to find the exit. Dismissing the entire episode as an apparition, he returned to the text in front of him.

“Ugh!” A disgruntled voice came from the back room. “William Penn!”

“What?”

“You cleaned up again!”

“Well, I was tripping over things in there,” Merlin slid off his stool, popped his head into the room, and found Elena standing in the middle of the stockroom sporting a lost expression. “What are you looking for?” She spun around and shot him a reproachful look.

“I’ll have you know every pile in this room was organised where I could find it. Now, I can’t find a thing!”

“What are you looking for?” He reiterated.

“I need a blank order form. If we don’t get one put in for Monmouth’s new book, we’ll never get them in by the release date,” she lamented. Without speaking, Merlin looked to his left and pointed to the file cabinet marked “book orders”. He slid open the top drawer and pulled out a file. Desperately trying to fight off laughter, he handed it to her.

“Smart ass,” she growled as she snapped the folder from his hand. Merlin quickly lost the battle with his composure and collapsed into laughter as she grumbled on about “uptight organisational freaks”. She continued to stomp around the storeroom, rummaging through the newly organised shelves before turning to him. “If you’re quite through, I believe there is a customer at the register.”

Merlin turned, one eye still savouring the agitated look on Elena’s face and started to walk toward the till. He’d not taken two steps before his pen slipped from his fingers and he watched it roll across the floor. He picked it up as it skidded to a halt next to the counter.

“Good morning,” he said brightly, still giggling over Elena’s sordid commentary floating out of the back room. As his eyes travelled toward the customer, they stopped abruptly on the book sitting on the counter. He stared at it for just a moment before pulling it toward him and flipping it over to the back cover for the barcode.

“Have you read it?” a deep, but quiet, voice asked.

“Yes,” Merlin replied.

As a matter of fact, he’d essentially memorised this particular story in a former life, if only because he had personally been a part of it. Although this was a fictional retelling, The Labyrinth of Gedref was certainly familiar to him, no matter how much he tried to put his old life behind him. Images of Arthur sitting across a table from him, a goblet full of (thankfully fake) poison pressed to his lips before he fell to the ground, flashed in Merlin’s memory. He was just about to convey the finer points of this much-exaggerated retelling to the gentleman before him when he noticed said gentleman’s hand shaking on the counter. His medical education taking over, he looked up to ask the man if he was alright.

At that moment, Merlin was sure he was the only sorcerer in recorded history to have died twice.

The air around him became as thick as wet wool. He couldn’t draw a breath; he wasn’t entirely sure he even remembered how to do so. His heart was pounding so forcefully in his chest that it must’ve been heard throughout the bookshop. His mouth bobbed open and closed as he searched for words – appropriate words? Any words, anything at all to explain his existence to the best friend who’d believed Merlin dead these last four years.

“Oh my stars,” he whispered, his eyes locked on the unreadable face of Arthur Pendragon.

For a few interminably long moments, they said nothing. As the din of silence quickly became unbearable, Arthur shattered the stillness and Merlin along with it.

"Well,” he cleared his throat as his eyes flicked momentarily between the book and Merlin. “I guess that rules out the possibility you’ve been suffering from amnesia.” His voice was cold. His hand was still shaking (although, at this point, it seemed everything was shaking. It was probably just Merlin).

There were a million things Merlin wanted to say, if only he could think of them. His mind was blank. He’d imagined this day hundreds of times. Sometimes Arthur was happy, sometimes sad, occasionally they fell into a passionate embrace, and sometimes he said nothing. Most of the time, he was livid. It appeared the great Merlin Emrys had been right again.

Although he hadn’t seen Arthur in years, he’d certainly remembered what Arthur looked like when he was angry. The word “angry” didn’t even begin to do justice to the look on his face. He appeared only milliseconds away from a full-bodied explosion when Merlin’s eyes were suddenly drawn to the familiar woman that appeared at Arthur’s shoulder.

“Did you find what you were looking for?

It was the same woman Merlin had seen with Arthur in the tabloids. She snaked her arm through Arthur’s and smiled warmly at him. Had she not been hanging on to the man Merlin had dedicated his new life to pining away for, he would’ve considered her to be a lovely young woman. She had long brown hair, a flawless fair complexion, and striking brown eyes. She seemed athletic and Merlin reasoned that she must’ve played some sport, or still did, in order to maintain her lithe figure. Arthur seemed to shake the anger from his mind as she spoke and turned to her in response.

“Yes,” he said as he gave her a warm smile and closed his hand over hers. He inclined his head toward the door and stepped back from the counter.

“You’re not going to get the book?” She asked.

Arthur looked squarely at Merlin and replied, “It wasn’t the book I thought it was.” He gently moved Mithian toward the door. Seemingly intrigued, she looked away from Arthur and caught Merlin’s eye. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognised the look that crossed her face. As he stood on shaking legs, he watched them wrap their arms around each other and walk to the door. The tinkling of the bell and the hollow sound of the door closing shook Merlin from his trance and he staggered backward a few steps. His back found the wall as he finally realised that he hadn’t drawn a breath since laying eyes on Arthur. He gasped for air like a fish out of water. His knees, shaking violently, failed to hold him a second longer and with a strangled cry he slid to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Will?” Elena called, bustling around the corner. “Will, love,” she said worriedly, dropping to the floor beside him. "What's happened?"

“My name’s… not… Will,” he whispered.

The only sound thereafter was that of his anguished cries.


	4. Chapter 4

“I think I need another drink,” Elena said disbelievingly.

Merlin sat across from her, nursing an already chilled cup of tea as he stared, entranced, at the rolling ocean. After he'd regained enough composure to breathe properly, Elena had escorted him to his cottage where he’d haltingly confessed to the sordid history he had guarded so fiercely over the last four years.

Elena slipped into the kitchen and began sifting through the cupboard fruitlessly. “When I said ‘another drink’, I rather hoped you’d have something a bit more stout,” she complained from the kitchen.

“Sorry. You know me, Elena,” Merlin replied simply. It wasn’t until after the kitchen had fallen silent that the irony of those words became clear.

“I thought I did,” she answered quietly as she brushed the drifting curtains out of her path and walked back onto the terrace. The two friends held each other’s gaze for a moment before it became too much for Merlin to take. He blushed with a long-harboured embarrassment borne of his deceit and returned his attention to the mug still clasped in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as the sea beckoned his eyes forward again. Elena followed his gaze toward the setting sun and sighed.

“It’s alright,” she said without rebuke. “I can’t imagine what was going on in your head. But then again, I’m not the most famous sorcerer in the world, either.”

“I’m hardly the most famous,” Merlin countered.

“You can argue it all you’d like, but if Merlin Emrys is familiar in Tenerife, then he’s commonplace in the rest of the world.”

Merlin dispensed with the appearance of drinking his tea and set the cold cup aside. He dropped his head backward, letting it fall along the teak swing he’d spent so many hours lamenting this very subject in. He knew she was right; it was the primary reason he’d chosen Tenerife in the first place. Anonymity is hard to come by when you’re the teen sorcerer who helped the Prince defeat The Cailleach. Part of him knew that anonymity would not be permanent. Another part wondered if that wasn’t what he’d been hoping for all along.

“You know what’s hardest about this for me?” Elena asked.

 “No, what?”

“Your name. I’ve known you for years as Will Penn – you must forgive me if I regress upon occasion. It’ll take some getting used to.” She regarded him appraisingly. “Why did you pick that name anyway?”

Merlin lifted his head to look upon his only friend in Tenerife, acutely aware that Elena didn’t know ‘Merlin’ at all. “Will was one of my best mates growing up. He nearly died during the attack," he swallowed audibly. "He was saving Arthur's life."

“And Penn?”

Merlin thought about it for a moment. He searched his vocabulary for the right words, but nothing came to mind. In truth, he wasn’t sure why he’d chosen it. Years ago, in an unfortunate oversight, he hadn’t given any thought to the new name he’d assume upon beginning the quest to find himself. The question was thrust upon him within hours of his arrival in Tenerife. In haste, he’d replied with the first thing that came to mind.

As the years passed and he came to understand the consequences of his decision to leave, he’d given quite a bit of personal analysis to the name he’d chosen for himself. The only thing he knew as a matter of certainty was his affinity for it. Somehow, in a horribly long list of poor decisions he’d committed himself to, that decision was one he found comforting.

It made him feel closer to Arthur.

“Penn is –” he was interrupted by an aggressive knock at the door.

“Who’s calling at this bloody hour?” Elena scoffed as she looked at her watch. Merlin would’ve moved to answer the door, but given where his thoughts had been and his experience that morning, he was quite literally frozen in his seat. “Stay there,” she instructed, “I’ll get it.”

She stepped back into the cottage through the open terrace doors and crossed the floor toward the continuing racket. Trapped somewhere between fear and hope, Merlin involuntarily rose from his swing and stood in the terrace threshold, staring apprehensively toward Elena’s destination.

Elena flipped the simple lock to the side as the pounding continued. With poorly masked aggravation she barked, “Awfully pushy for arriving at such an inappropriate hour!” She flung the door open and Merlin suddenly drew the breath his lungs had been demanding.

An imposing Will Waters was standing in the doorway looking, quite simply put, furious.

He stepped past Elena, crossed the room, and grabbed Merlin by the shoulders. “Why? Why, Merlin?” Will demanded as he shook Merlin roughly.

“Hey!” Elena snapped as she rushed over to them. Will gave her a seething glare and upon locking eyes with him, she seemed to realise who had come to call. She looked to Merlin for guidance and upon seeing expression, stepped back toward the door.

Merlin wanted to punch Will for such a warm and inviting reunion. To Will, Merlin had magically returned from the dead and all he could do was shake him and scream. He would’ve appreciated a salutation first – a friendly overture like, “Hi, how are you? How’s your life? How’s your death?” But just the mere passing of the words through Merlin’s mind reminded him how ridiculous they sounded. Of course Will was infuriated, just as Merlin would be were their roles reversed. Will wanted answers and Merlin had no idea what to say.

He’d been contemplating the answer to Will’s question for hours, if not years, and was equally as unable to give an adequate response as he’d ever been. That being the case, he responded as truthfully as he could, “I wish I had a good answer for that.”

Will released Merlin’s arms with marked frustration and turned his back as he started pacing the floor, throwing a fleeting glance toward Elena who crossed her arms defiantly. As Will paced angrily, Merlin couldn’t help but notice the man standing before him.

It wasn’t hard to envision him playing football professionally. If all the photos Merlin had ever seen hadn’t provided him an adequate picture, the figure standing before him certainly did. Although Will hadn’t grown any taller from their days at university, he’d filled out considerably. His shoulders were broader and Merlin could see the subtle outlines of well-defined muscle under his shirt. He seemed more coordinated, more confident. His face showed the stubble of a man who’d not shaved in a day or two and the experiences of life seemed to give greater definition to lines of his face. His hair was as unruly as it had ever been and the deep blue of his eyes remained exactly as Merlin remembered it.

His Will Waters had finally grown up.

If Will’s appearance wasn’t proof enough of that, the gleaming wedding band on his finger drove the point home. However, of everything that had changed, Will’s ability to incite a row with Merlin did not. He appeared as practiced in that as he must’ve been in football.

“You bloody well better think of a good answer, Merlin!” He snapped. Something about his tone of voice echoed in Merlin's head and instantly transported him back to Camelot and the many memories of vicious arguments they had exchanged there during their brief romance.

“Well, so much for joyous reunions,” he said sarcastically.

Will spun toward him. “Don’t take that sanctimonious tone with me!” He said coldly.

Merlin scoffed. “Apparently you’ve learned some new words over the last few years.”

Will’s face darkened significantly and his voice was reduced to a chilling whisper.

“I’ve learned a lot of things over the last few years, Merlin. I’ve learned about pain and loss. I’ve seen guilt swallow a man whole and spit him out just as easily.” He began walking toward Merlin slowly. Given the look on Will’s face, Merlin gave serious consideration to stepping back as he approached. “I’ve learned that true friendship is rarely easy and sometimes feels more like the very inferno of hell.” Will paused as he looked Merlin from head to toe, causing a shudder to rise along Merlin’s spine. “And as I stand here tonight, I’ve learned that all of it was completely unnecessary.”

Merlin looked away. He wasn’t quite sure what Will had been through these last few years, but his final comment did not leave question as to whose fault it was. “Will,” he began quietly.

“No, Merlin!” Will interrupted, “You have no idea what I’ve been through – what Arthur’s been though – and the best you can say is ‘I wish I had a good answer’? That’s not good enough!”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, Will, but that’s exactly why I left!”

“What?” Will asked incredulously.

“It was always about you and Arthur!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Will demanded, his face becoming red and confusion washing over his features.

Frustrated by the need to point out what he saw as obvious, Merlin dug in his heels and crossed his arms defiantly. “My entire life revolved around the two of you. Everything I did, everything I wanted, every experience I had involved setting aside myself to get you both out of whatever mess you’d gotten into. And what’s more – you not only expected me to do so, but never once acknowledged the sacrifice. No, wait!” He pre-empted as Will opened his mouth to reply. “Even in the reports of my death, I couldn’t get a sentence with my name in it that didn’t have ‘Arthur and Will’ somewhere before it. I’d matured from a child to a man and I’d defined myself through the two of you and had no clue who Merlin Emrys even was!”

“Jesus, Merlin! If you wanted some grand escape to find yourself, we would’ve been happy to help you pack! You didn’t need to fake your own death to get away from us!” Will threw his hands up in exasperation as he paced toward the terrace doors.

“That’s exactly my point! I needed to see if I could make it on my own. Asking your permission to leave would’ve completely negated the purpose in going,” Merlin’s knees were beginning to feel weak. He looked toward the inviting sofa and flopped onto it unceremoniously.

“So you let us believe you were dead?” Will’s voice grew quiet as Merlin stared, unseeingly, out of the terrace doors. “Forgive me, Merlin, if I don’t think the end justified the means,” he finished coolly.

Merlin dropped his head into his hands. Will had managed to hit on the one issue that caused the lion’s share of Merlin’s guilt. He didn’t think Will would buy the semantics any more than Merlin himself did, but it was worth a shot.

“I didn’t fake my own death,” he replied quietly.

“I’m pretty sure I attended the memorial…”

“Which I had no knowledge of until after it happened,” he interrupted. In Will’s confusion, silence filled the room. “As far as I understand it, I was unconscious for several weeks. A reclusive druid who’d sworn off magic nursed me to health. I wasn’t that far from Camelot, as it turned out, but secluded enough to be completely detached from the outside world. By the time I realised what was going on… I was already ‘dead’.” At the last words, Merlin looked away, needlessly fluffing the pillow beside him. He could feel Will’s glare burning through the top of his head.

“So you just let the world believe a lie?” He asked darkly.

“I didn’t know what else to do!” Merlin snapped, getting to his feet again. Will didn’t so much as flinch at his words or his behaviour. Rather, he crossed his arms and walked out onto the terrace.

Merlin hesitated and looked pleadingly toward Elena who hadn't moved from her place near the door since Will’s arrival. “Tell him everything, Merlin,” she said supportively. “That’s the only way you’ll get through this.” Hesitating briefly she added, “The lies have to stop.”

Merlin looked up in shock at the bluntness of her advice. Before he could string together a response, she had gathered her purse from the hook near the door and slipped from the cottage, leaving Merlin alone with the situation he’d manufactured for himself.

He turned slowly toward the open terrace doors. Will was braced against the wrought iron railing, staring with unseeing eyes toward the churning ocean. The moonlight cast him in silhouette and although Merlin couldn’t see the details on Will’s face, he could sense there was more to the story. Drawing a breath for courage, he crossed the floor and stepped out onto the terrace.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Will said suddenly.

Merlin’s eyes snapped to his. “What?”

Will turned and leaned his hip on the railing, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve been an insufferable know-it-all your entire life and you expect me to believe that you didn’t know what to do?”

Merlin was incensed. His jaw hit the floor and heat rushed to his face. All the thoughts and feelings he’d bottled up for the last four years cascaded from his mouth before he could stop them. “Oh, please! As if my death stopped either of you for more than a day!”

He stormed back into the cottage, Will following closely behind, and began tossing his photo albums and scrapbooks onto the coffee table between them. “For the first few years, I paid meticulous attention to the both of you. Arthur displayed a greater range of emotion over Ewan’s death than he ever did over mine. When he does break away long enough from his life of mystery and intrigue, he has a different girl clinging to his arm and tossing her hair around. I’d assumed from how they behaved together, he’s likely honeymooning with that brown-eyed strumpet from this morning! And you,” he slapped a book open to several beaming photographs of Will. “You certainly didn’t look any worse for wear. I particularly like this one,” he flipped the page to the only photo from Freya and Will’s wedding that managed to catch Arthur with a toothy smile. He and Will had their arms around each other’s shoulders and were laughing heartily. “It reminds me of this,” he took a framed picture of the three of them, similarly situated, off the mantle and tossed it on the open album for comparison. “Only, you’d never notice that I’m not even there.”

Will looked at the pictures without uncrossing his arms. He maintained a seething glare but said nothing. “I wonder,” Merlin continued, his conscious begging him to stop. He knew he was taking this entire conversation too far but couldn’t stop the compulsion to say what his lacking self-esteem had argued all these years. “Has my memorial been completely overtaken with ivy from inattention or have one of you even bothered to stop by in the last –“

“Shut up, Merlin!” Will snapped, appearing to have reached the end of his patience. Merlin opened his mouth to continue in brazen defiance but Will stopped him as soon as he drew breath. “Sit down and shut up,” he ordered. “It’s time I told you the story of how _easily_ we forgot about you.”

His tone brooked no refusals but Merlin was not about to be commanded in his own home. If Will wanted to tell him a tale, he was welcome to do so – but it would be on Merlin’s terms, even if that only meant the location of the storytelling. He stormed from the room, slapping the gauzy curtains out of his way, and dropped into his swing.

Will followed a few steps behind and took a seat on the padded wicker chair adjacent to Merlin’s own. He drew a breath and looked toward the moonlit ocean. “What I’m about to tell you, I’ve never told anyone. The only people who know are those who went through it with us and it’s not a topic of conversation among any of us – least of all between me and Arthur.”

Merlin’s brows furrowed questioningly, his interest appearing to assuage the murderous look on Will’s face. “Everything you said is completely opposite of the truth as it happened. To this day, against my advice, Arthur spends an afternoon each week at the overlook where he placed your memorial.”

“He placed?” Merlin asked in confusion. Will shot him a look that could only mean Merlin was intended to listen and not talk.

After he seemed confident Merlin had gotten the message, Will continued. “We reached a point in the weeks following the attack where we were suddenly left to ‘move on’ like everyone told us we should. Camelot was repaired, all of the funerals and memorials had been conducted, and Arthur and I left to start whatever life we were going to make for ourselves,” Will relaxed in the chair, a disbelieving look crossing his face. “It wasn’t hard. Job offerings were practically flying through the windows.” He folded his hands in his lap and inspected his fingernails as he spoke. “I don’t presume to think I would’ve landed my current job if not for the fame the attack brought me,” Appearing to shake off that thought, he continued, “Arthur didn’t move into the flat we’d all chosen together. He moved into another one, alone. I found a place a few blocks over, so I was still close by. After we’d all gotten settled, Morgana demanded that Arthur take part in the regular Sunday lunch at her place. Arthur graciously declined the first invitation.” Will looked back out toward the ocean. A light breeze caught his hair and casually blew it back from his face. “I should’ve known then.”

Merlin thought to ask the question but, remembering the rules of the storytelling, closed his mouth as quickly as he’d opened it. “I knew he wasn’t dealing with it well, but I didn’t know what do.” He chuckled to himself. “We men don’t have these conversations. We don’t talk about our feelings and cry. So, instead… we drank. We agreed to meet on Fridays at this pub we’d found 'round the corner from my place. We did meet that Friday, but we didn’t talk about anything that mattered. We drank. Well,” Will amended, “Arthur drank. When Sunday came along, he didn’t even offer an excuse. So I made one up for him.”

Will paused and drew a shaky breath. “He refused to speak to Agravain, aside from the telling the smarmy bastard that Arthur had no intention of retaining his princely title as long as that useless piece of shite continued to play at being king. He’d not made any attempt to get a job. The post just piled up at his door. I didn’t hear from him and by Tuesday thought to check in.” He dropped his head back along the wicker chair and stared at the hypnotic spinning of the palm-leaved ceiling fan turning lazily above him. “He hadn’t unpacked a thing. All the boxes were precisely where we’d left them but at least he’d managed to open one for the occasional change of clothes. It struck me then that all of his kitchen boxes were still sealed. It was obvious he hadn’t eaten anything in days. It was equally as obvious he’d chosen to sustain himself on whiskey.”

He cast a brief glance toward Merlin, presumably to see if he was still paying attention. To say he was hanging on every word would’ve been a grand understatement. Satisfied that Merlin was still listening, Will continued, “There were empty bottles all over the flat. I made some lame joke about it and he made it very clear that I wasn’t welcome. We argued.” He looked at Merlin again. “Needless to say, our Arthur is not a pleasant drunk.”

He looked away again, lost in the story. “Anyway, he threw me out with a few choice words to encourage me to keep my nose in my own business. Luckily for me, his punches are completely off the mark when the whiskey’s aiming them.” He shook his head. “I figured it would blow over. He was drunk, he didn’t mean it, he’ll come around…” He waved his hand in a circular motion that reminded Merlin entirely too much of Gaius. “So that Friday, I went to the pub and waited. He never showed. After an hour, I got angry. I was angry with everything, with everyone. I was angry at you, at him, at me, and the hand we’d been dealt. After a few drinks I was ready to spar. So, I stormed over to his flat with a mind to tell him off.”

Will sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. With a sigh, he propped his forehead on his interlaced fingers and stopped. Several minutes floated by in silence and Merlin was left to wonder if that was the end of the story. Compelled to hear more, he chanced an interruption. “So what happened?” He asked tentatively.

Will sat up and considered him for a moment. He dropped his arms along the white wicker chair and sighed audibly.

“You know, Merlin, of everything we’ve been through – dragons, trolls, insane sorcerers, even the Cailleach – nothing has ever scared me so much as what I saw when I got to his flat.” His face darkened measurably. “The lot of us were my whole life. I’d already lost you.” He looked at Merlin with a stricken expression. “At that moment, I was sure I’d lost Arthur too. “ He looked away quickly, but failed to do so fast enough to prevent Merlin from seeing the tears well in his eyes. “The months that followed are ones I’ve given serious consideration to having magicked away. I’d have gladly faced those dorocha again rather than fight the battle I did.”

“What happened?” Merlin asked. He had a sinking feeling he was about to find out why Arthur was so conspicuously absent from the press in the months following the battle.

* * *

_“Arthur!” Will shouted, beating his fists on the door relentlessly. “Open the bloody door! I know you’re in there!”_

_Silence._

_“Arthur!” Will’s voice began to climb the rafters in anger. Realising Arthur was going to play the same game he’d been engaged in for weeks, Will completely lost his patience. He hammered a well-aimed kick between the lock the doorjamb. The resulting impact blasted Arthur’s door entirely from its hinges and Will stormed into the room._

_“Arthur?” He called. The flat seemed deserted. For a moment, the fleeting thought passed that perhaps Arthur and he had passed along the street and he’d have to come up with a rather good reason for destroying his front door._

_He brushed the settling dust from his face and coughed as it tickled the back of his throat. Feeling the need to tidy up, he stepped off the door and bent over to pick it up. That was when he saw it._

_His stomach lurched into his throat as he stared disbelievingly at the unmistakable hand of Arthur Pendragon. It was barely visible from behind the couch, lying palm up on the floor, his thumb ring glistening in the low light. Will moved tentatively at first, begging whatever deity he could think of to not have Arthur’s dead body attached to the other end. He moved around the couch, following Arthur’s hand as it became his arm, then his blanched and seemingly lifeless body crumpled on the floor._

_Instinct moved him beyond his fear and he rushed to where Arthur lay unconscious. He was lying haphazardly on his right side, his face surrounded by a pool of blood. A few feet away was a shattered bottle of scotch with his blood clearly staining the shards. A matching gash along his throat put the puzzle together quite easily for Will._

_He leapt up from Arthur’s side, wrestled his mobile from his pocket, and dialled emergency services._

_A harassed sounding woman answered with an annoyed and, Will thought, quite lazy demeanour. “What seems to be the problem, sir?” She asked with forced interest._

_“Uh – my friend… Arthur – he’s on the floor. I don’t know what happened, I just came over to his flat and found him – there’s blood everywhere, I need help…”_

_“Does he have any existing medical conditions?” She interrupted without seeming to notice the urgency in Will’s voice. This quickly became one of those rare occasions where he decided to use every ounce of notoriety his fame had brought him._

_“Listen to me! My name is Will Waters,” Her quick intake of breath was audible over the speaker. “And I am telling you that Arthur Fucking Pendragon is unconscious on his floor and in serious trouble! Now, you either send some paramedics here right now or I’ll ensure every reporter from here to Zimbabwe knows **you** are the one responsible for his death!”_

_Having apparently said the magic words, the operator replied with a hasty, "one moment, please!" before the line went quiet._

_Ten minutes later, Will found himself surrounded as several medics charged through the door into Arthur’s flat. He staggered backwards as they converged on Arthur and began to assess his condition. One opened a bag and unzipped a small pouch. Several coloured orbs flew out and spun furiously over the length of Arthur’s body. They darted around each other, some stopping to hover in various locations, and chirped and clattered until dropping back into the bag they’d come from._

_A stout older woman kept her eyes on a self-propelled silver pen that was, presumably, recording Arthur’s vital signs as the orbs had reported them. After the pen finished its task, she snapped up the results and looked it over carefully._

_“He’s lost a lot of blood,” a younger man in blue coveralls announced. His face was etched with determination and he used a pair of scissors to cut the jumper away from Arthur’s body. He palpated his chest, arms, throat, and abdomen and turned him slightly from side to side, appearing to look for additional lacerations. While he worked, another blue-clad medic kept Arthur’s head stable and tended to the gash along his neck._

_The four of them continued to chatter to each other in a dialect Will scarcely recognised as English. Short of football terminology, he’d never heard so many acronyms in one sentence. Their voices carried off into a fog as he stood staring at the pale, motionless body of his best friend. Before he realised it, he was muttering aloud, “please, don’t die, Arthur. You’re all I have left.” He continued to voice the same plea over and over until he realised the woman with the notepad had placed a hand on his shoulder and was talking to him softly._

_“Mr. Waters? My name is Alice.” Will was startled from his trance. He looked into her sympathetic eyes and a pit opened in his stomach as his blood ran cold. It was the same look Morgana had had when she delivered the news that Merlin had been declared dead by the Yard._

_He turned to face her fully. “He’s not dead. I won’t believe he’s dead.”_

_“No, Mr. Waters. He is not dead.” She smiled warmly. “But he needs immediate care in excess of what we can provide here.” Will was vaguely aware that they were placing Arthur on a stretcher and rolling him out the door. “I need you to come with me to complete some paperwork – and to talk.” She looked away sheepishly._

_“Paperwork?” He questioned._

_“After the death of his father, Prince Arthur had taken steps to ensure that his uncle would have no say in any of his personal affairs. Several documents name both yourself and Mr. Emrys as his emergency contacts. Given your relationship with him, I doubt my supervisor will take issue with you assuming responsibility for his medical care.” Will looked back to the door as the last medic traipsed through with the team’s gear. Before he knew it, Alice had a firm grip on his shoulder and was guiding him into an unmarked car._

_When they reached the hospital shortly after the paramedics, Arthur was nowhere to be seen, but it was obvious where they’d taken him. Every head in the busy corridor was turned in the same direction, accompanied by animated gesturing and women with their hands clasped firmly over their mouths. Will stepped forward in the direction he believed Arthur had gone when he felt a hand grab his shoulder again. “You can’t go with him,” Alice said apologetically. Will turned to her quickly, an overwhelming feeling of uselessness beginning to affect his waning patience._

_“He needs blood; they said he’d lost a lot.”_

_She was nodding politely. Will became increasingly annoyed that he had to elaborate on such an obvious point. “So hook me up! Now!” He was frantic to do something – anything – to help save Arthur the way Arthur done for him. As it was, he had no idea what Arthur’s prognosis was, what they needed to do for him, or even what had happened in the first place. Given the situation, Will would have gladly settled just to know where they’d taken him._

_“Mr. Waters, I know this is difficult for you –”_

_“Please, I’m begging you.” He grabbed Alice by her shoulders as stinging tears began to blur his vision. She nodded with the same unnerving sympathy she’d shown since they'd met at Arthur’s flat._

_“You probably don’t remember, but I attended to you after the attack. His Royal Highness made the same request you’re making. That’s how I know you and he do not have compatible blood types. But,” she pre-empted as Will began to argue, “you can help him if you come with me.”_

_He gave a fleeting look down the corridor, not failing to notice that many of the onlookers’ eyes were now focused on him. In the absence of a more appealing alternative, he followed her into a nearby office._

_“Please, have a seat Mr. Waters,” she said, pointing to a well-worn chair that sat across from a large oak desk._

_“Call me Will. I keep looking for my dad when you call me that,” he said while making a futile effort to rub the headache from his temples._

_“Very well then, Will. I need to ask you some questions. Please forgive me if they seem a bit intrusive, but they’re all in the best interest of His Royal Highness.” Will looked at her frankly. “Um – Arthur,” she corrected. “They’re really in your best interest as well. I’d like to help you both.”_

_He settled himself into the chair wordlessly and awaited the interrogation she’d promised._

_“First, as a matter of technicality, I need you to sign these,” she flared out several pieces of standardised paper on the desk in front of him. “They merely give the hospital permission to treat Arthur’s injuries in the manner our medical team deems appropriate.” Will didn’t bother reading any of them. He grabbed a pen and signed each in succession as she thanked him._

_“Now,” she began. A young man knocked quietly on the door and entered swiftly. He handed Alice a file with Arthur’s name stamped across the top. She thanked him kindly and flipped through the sheets of paper inside._

_Feeling the need to move the conversation along, Will reminded her of her task. “’Now” what?”_

_She flipped the file closed, brows furrowed, and looked at him appraisingly. “How are you doing?”_

_“What?” Will was losing the rather tenuous grip he had on his composure. Small talk was not going to help Arthur._

_“I think you missed my point. Perhaps I should rephrase the question,” she said without reproach. She sat up and crossed her arms on the desk. “How are you dealing with Mister Emrys’s death?”_

_Will was completely caught off guard with the frankness of the question. He didn’t have much of an answer. He fumbled with a response, tripping over himself steadily until it appeared Alice had found her answer anyway._

_“That’s what I thought.” Will continued to stare at her without speaking. “I know this is difficult, but I need to know how Arthur is dealing with it.”_

_Will felt the heat rise in his face. This was a subject they’d ardently avoided, although he knew the answer without question. However, the thought of revealing Arthur’s innermost turmoil to a complete stranger was unsettling. Did this breach some kind of best mate constitution? “Um - well,” he stammered, trying to fill the silence as he searched for the right words. She sat back and folded her hands in her lap while she continued to wait patiently. Finally deciding that a diplomatic answer would never come to him, he sighed heartily and looked up._

_“He’s not doing well at all,” he began. “We’d all planned to move in together and he's since gotten his own place. I don’t think he’s eating. He doesn’t leave his flat. He’s refused to even respond to the thousands of job offers he’s received.”_

_The more Will talked the more cathartic it became. He’d always heard it was easier to pour your heart out to a stranger; perhaps whoever said that was right. He sat forward in the chair and picked harmlessly at a loose thread on the upholstery._

_“He’s shutting everyone out. He’s shutting_ me _out.” He looked at her across the desk as she got up and moved into the chair beside him. “Whiskey seems to be his new best friend.”_

_“So I see,” she said quietly as she glanced over at the file on the desk._

_Feeling a loyalty to explain away Arthur’s affinity for drink to this perfect stranger, Will continued, “I can’t blame him.” He looked at her sorrowfully. “I always thought Arthur was in love with him; even when Merlin and I dated. He never said anything, of course, not even after we broke up. I just couldn’t shake the suspicion that he saw more in Merlin than friendship. After Merlin disappeared, I was certain of it.” He sat back in the chair and looked toward the ceiling._

_“I’ll never forget it. When their spells clashed in mid-air the whole turret was blown away. Merlin had found a spell that enabled Arthur to draw power from those he loved. Arthur doesn’t have magic, you know, but that – love, and the sacrifice of it - was the key. I remember being thrown through the air, completely unable to act under my own power. I didn’t have the strength. It took everything Arthur had, everything I had, and apparently everything Merlin had to defeat her. They found me about fifty yards away. We couldn’t find Merlin._

_“He was thrown in the other direction. I saw him flying off toward the east lawn before I blacked out.” He huffed to himself. “It seemed like it should’ve been easy. They went fifty yards in that direction expecting to find him as they did me. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere. I woke up two days later in a makeshift hospital wing. I’d expected to see Arthur, but he wasn’t there. He’d been leading his own search party for a solid forty-eight hours.”_

_Alice got up from the chair and poured two cups of water from the dispenser on the other side of the office. Will also saw her snatch a tissue from the box on her way back. Interestingly, she never handed it to him._

_“I heard from the others in the ward that the search became an obsession for him. As it turned out, our professors were contemplating the spell Merlin had used while I was still unconscious. Professor Nemeth reasoned that it drew power proportionally from those he loved.” He looked at Alice to judge her understanding. “Apparently, the more deeply Arthur cared for someone, the more power he would draw from them.” She nodded with drawing comprehension._

_“Gwen told me later that Arthur had overheard that conversation when he’d come back to check on me.” Will said quietly._

_“Oh, dear,” she lamented._

_“Not that he ever told anyone, but that’s when I knew, without question, that Arthur was in love with him. I’d known him for so long, so well, one thing was absolutely clear to me: Arthur loved Merlin and was - and still is - convinced that his love for him was what killed him.” He paused a beat and met the doctor’s eyes. “That_ he _killed Merlin.”_

_Will sipped his water. He never talked about this. Looking into Alice’s eyes, he was glad he had done so. As he continued to speak, a weight lifted from his chest, even if his voice cracked audibly as he spoke. “He was obsessed with the search. When Merlin was declared dead, Arthur died too. Sometimes I get the impression he’s just waiting around for the day he finally does.”_

_“That’s my concern,” She shuffled in her seat, clearly uncomfortable with what she felt necessary to say. “The nature of his injuries are such that they may have been self-inflicted.”_

_Will looked up suddenly. While he’d kept his thoughts buried in the far away reaches of his own mind, he’d never really thought Arthur capable of actually committing suicide. Surely if he had been that distraught, Will would’ve known. Wouldn’t he?_

_“No way,” he replied sharply. “I know Arthur better than I know myself. He wouldn’t do that.” He could only hope he was right._

_“Love, guilt, and grief can do funny things to a person,” she countered simply. They fell into silence again. For several minutes, a ticking clock was the only sound to be heard within the four walls of the office. “Here’s the difficult part,” she finally announced, breaking the silence. Will looked at her curiously, wondering what could possibly be harder than recounting the little-known events of that night. “Arthur has no one to speak for him but you. Given the circumstances of his admission, his word is, quite frankly, not worth much to the medical staff here.” She looked Will squarely in the eye. “I believe his grief is more than you can attend to. And from what you’ve told me, I don’t believe that he’d allow you to help him anyway.”_

_“What are you saying?” He wanted to argue with her, but in his heart he knew she was right._

_“We have the resources here to help Arthur get through this. Given the questions behind his condition, it’s an option we’re making available to you.” She slid another piece of paper across the desk and looked at him hopefully. “I’ll give you a few moments to look this over and think about it. I don’t want to influence you one way or another; I’m not the one who must live with the consequences of signing it.” With that said, she tapped him supportively on the shoulder and left the office._

_Will took the piece of paper in hand and his heart sank to the floor. She was asking him to have Arthur committed to the psychiatric ward. He slapped the waiver on the desk and walked to the window to contemplate the hardest decision he’d ever have to make._

* * *

“Will,” Merlin said slowly, “tell me you didn’t sign the paper.”

“What other choice did I have?” He stirred the tea Merlin had brought him during his story and kicked at the curtain that continued to slap against his chair. “I couldn’t help him, not that he would’ve let me anyway. It replayed in my head over and over. All I could see was his dead body and the thought that – love me or hate me for it – I could maybe stop it from happening. I’d already signed it by the time she came back to the office.”

Merlin pulled a fleece blanket around him, attempting to warm himself from the chill that crept along his spine. This story was like watching a train wreck. He tried to turn off his curiosity and fought not to ask the questions that coursed through his mind, but he was compelled to keep listening to the bitter end. “Who told him?”

Will looked at him, exhaustion visibly creeping over his body. “I did.” He closed his eyes regretfully. “I figured if I was going to be the one to commit him, I at least owed it to him to tell him myself.”

* * *

_Will walked into the triage unit to find Arthur sitting up and dressing himself in a loaner sweatshirt. He winced as his the collar scraped along the bandage around his neck. When he looked in the mirror to inspect it, he saw Will approaching from the door. He turned around and met his eyes regretfully._

_“Sorry I missed pub night,” he said with a forced chuckle._

_“Yeah, me too,” Will replied._

_“Listen, Will –” Arthur began as they tried to speak at the same time. After a few moments of indecision as to who should open the conversation, Arthur took the lead. “I know I haven’t been a very reliable friend lately," he dropped his eyes to the floor, “but I think tonight was a good wake up call for me. I have to get myself together.”_

_Will suddenly had the sinking feeling that he’d made a terrible mistake. Here he was, expecting to have to convince Arthur that he needs help, and before he even got the chance, Arthur had admitted it himself. “It’s great to hear you say that, mate,” Will said worriedly. “I want you to get some help for this,” he added._

_“Well, I don’t think I need any help that you can’t give me. We’re in this together, right?” Arthur threw him a faltering smile as he pulled on his trainers. The sight of it startled Will into the realisation that Arthur was planning on leaving – and soon._

_“Did you set some record for recovery?” Will asked, watching Arthur attempt to tame his hair._

_“You know me. I’ve never been one to stay long in hospital. Really, after a transfusion or two, I feel loads better. I’d rather just go back to my flat and sleep for twelve hours.” Arthur said simply._

_Will realised he must’ve had a strange look on his face because Arthur stopped what he was doing and looked at him quizzically. “What’s wrong?”_

_Will cleared his throat and rocked from one foot to the other uneasily. He knew he had to say something before the escorts arrived. “Arthur, I have to tell you something,” he began. Arthur’s brows furrowed in question. “Let me say this first: I love you like a brother. You and Merlin were everything to me.” He noticed Arthur look away quickly at the sound of Merlin’s name. “Part of me died with him and I can’t stand to watch it happen again.”_

_Arthur looked up at him sharply. He raised a hand to the bandage around his neck and his eyes widened. “Will, what do you think happened tonight?”_

_“I don’t know,” Will muttered and cast a glance toward the floor. He only heard the approaching footsteps because he’d been listening for them. “I’m not about to let the rest of the world believe you tried to kill yourself.” Arthur blanched at the words. “But,” Will said quietly._

_“But what?” Arthur snapped._

_Just as he was about to speak, the doors opened behind him and two large attendants entered the unit. Will noticed Arthur’s eyes move fleetingly over his shoulder and appraise the two men. His time had run out. The brisk steps behind him gave Will the impression that they intended to take Arthur quickly. He didn’t have time for long drawn out explanations. He needed to make sure Arthur understood. He only hoped he could make him understand._

_“Arthur, you scared the hell out of me tonight. You’ve shut out everyone and everything – myself included.” Arthur was becoming visibly agitated. “You need help,” Will added as sympathetically as he could, before the attendants were in hearing range of the conversation._

_“What?” Arthur asked incredulously. Before Will could continue, Arthur’s eyes shot back over his shoulder to the approaching men. Will could see the comprehension wash over his face._

_“I only hope you don’t hate me for it,” he added quickly._

_Arthur’s entire expression changed dramatically. His breathing quickened and he shuffled backward a few steps. “What the fuck have you done, Will?” Will winced at the tone of Arthur’s words, if not the words themselves. The orderlies darted out from either side of him and advanced on Arthur. For being one of the most powerful men in the world, he was no match for the burly attendants that were descending on him. They grabbed him by the shoulders as he lunged for Will. Although they didn’t appear to be struggling much, Arthur was thrashing in their arms maniacally._

_“You were supposed to be my friend!” Arthur yelled._

_“I am your friend, Arthur!” Will replied, fighting the onslaught of emotion that was welling inside of him._

_“Bullshit!” Arthur barked, trying his level best to wriggle free from their iron grasp._

_“Sir, we need to take him now,” one of the men said apologetically. Will gave a short nod of assent and Arthur struggled more forcefully than ever._

_“Get the fuck off of me!” Arthur shouted as they began removing him bodily from the triage unit. As they passed where Will was standing, his eyes met Arthur’s._

_“I’m so sorry, Arthur,” he said so quietly he doubted Arthur could hear it over the sound of his own struggling. Arthur’s eyes were murderous. Hate was streaming from every pore in his body. As they hauled him through the ward, the last thing Will heard was a final declaration from his best friend of nearly fifteen years._

_"We’re through, Will! If you value your life you better pray I don’t ever lay eyes on you again!” The door slammed ominously and the ward fell silent. Will collapsed on the bed he’d been standing next to and buried his head in his hands. A silver glimmer from under Arthur’s bed caught his attention and he reached down to pick it up. Ygraine’s sigil, the one that Arthur had given to Merlin before the attack, and that Arthur had kept with him since the day he’d found it amid the rubble. Will heard footsteps approaching behind him. Feeling as though Arthur had escaped and was coming for him, he spun around, ready to defend himself. He was shocked to see the familiar face of Morgana._

_“I came as soon as I heard,” she said hurriedly as she crossed the ward toward him. Will stood there, unsure of what to do or say. Morgana had always loved Arthur like a brother – all three of them, really. What would she think of Will’s decision? “Oh, Will,” she said, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. “I spoke with the woman from the emergency response team.” Her voice quivered as she held him tighter. “You did the right thing. It'll be alright.” It was the first time since Will was six years old that he could remember crying on someone’s shoulder._

* * *

Merlin was the one crying now. Will had managed to get through the story with only a quivering voice and the steadfast resolve to keep his eyes on the ocean. Merlin was not so successful. As he’d sat and listened to the story, the full measure of his choice became clear to him.

When he’d decided to leave Albion, he’d never considered how important he had been to his friends. He’d actually worked rather hard to convince himself that he didn’t matter at all now that the classwork had passed and they were all set to leave uni for the “real world”. At the time, he’d had no romantic inclination for any of the lads, and while he knew Will felt the same (having been through an awkward relationship with him), he never once thought Arthur had feelings for him beyond friendship. In hindsight, Merlin wasn’t sure that information would’ve changed his course. If someone had told him then that Arthur Pendragon was secretly in love with him, he likely would’ve packed earlier out of sheer terror. After hearing the words issue from Will’s mouth, however, he wanted to feel inspired. He wanted to feel hopeful. He wanted to believe that there was still a chance he might find happiness with the one man he’d so desperately desired these past four years. But, of all the photographs, all the memories of Arthur that swam in Merlin’s head, he couldn’t erase the one look that had burned itself into his very soul – the look on Arthur’s face that very morning.

And as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t deny Arthur the righteous anger he no doubt harboured.

All of what they’d gone through was Merlin’s fault. He could’ve stopped it, but he chose not to. He chose to think of himself first, something he’d never truly remembered doing in all their time together. And while he didn’t argue his right to do so, he couldn’t justify the timing or the situation he'd chosen. Will was right. He should’ve made things right and left afterward with the promise that he would return. In the end, it was Will’s ability to recant a vividly emotional story and Merlin's own crushing guilt that caused the tears to flow. He clutched the blanket to his face before he realised Will was extending his hand, a tissue held between two fingers.

Merlin looked at him sheepishly and curled into a tighter ball on the swing. Will didn’t offer any consolation other than to maintain his silence while Merlin regained his composure.

“How long was he there?”

“About three months, give or take a few days. I tried not to count.”

Merlin looked through the open doorway into the cottage and tried desperately to find something to look at other than Will’s stony expression. His eyes fell across the coffee table, still strewn with his photo albums and picture frames. From where he sat, he could see the faint outlines of a joyous Arthur and Will at the wedding. The image recalled the logical side of his conscious that hadn’t gotten a word in edgewise all night.

“But this wasn't long after the memorial, right? You and Freya hadn’t gotten married yet, had you?”

Will looked at his hand and spun the band around his finger as he spoke. “No. For me, that might’ve been the only good thing to have come from the entire situation.” He looked up, but continued to absentmindedly fiddle with the ring on his hand. “Needless to say, I was a bit resentful after that. I’d lost everyone. I had no one I could really talk to.” Before Merlin could interject, Will answered his question. “Yes, I had my family, but it’s just not the same. I needed a friend. You were dead and Arthur was rambling to the orderlies about castrating me with a sword if he ever saw me again.” Will broke into the first smile Merlin had seen him give all evening. “One night, I was at the pub, eyeballing the same road Arthur had travelled, when I realised I had unexpected company.” He looked back at the ring. “Freya sat down, took my drink away, and forced me to talk to her.” He looked over to Merlin with obvious warmth lighting up his complexion. “She’s a wonderful listener. She also gave me the courage I didn’t think I had left.”

“Courage?” Merlin questioned.

Will beamed. “Arthur and I made it through this because of Freya. We wouldn’t be friends today if not for her.” Something Merlin could only classify as jealousy stirred deep within him as Will continued to speak. “I thought she was completely nutters,” he said with a chuckle. “Arthur is talking about tearing me limb from limb and her only advice was to go visit him – and visit him often.”

“Did you?”

“On her advice, and usually with her waiting right outside the door to put me back together, I saw him every Sunday.” Merlin’s mouth dropped open and Will looked at him amusedly. “Yeah, I wasn’t a popular guest,” he chuckled aloud. “The first two Sunday visits were very brief. Those same brute orderlies had to escort me; Arthur was serious about beating me to a pulp.” He looked back toward the moonlight. “But Freya was there, every day – every hour, if I needed her. She listened, she cried with me… and she forced me to go back. And I did. After a while it got a bit better. He wasn’t trying to kill me but he flat out refused to look at me, let alone engage in conversation. He would stare out of the window and I would play both sides of the chess board.” Will shook his head disbelievingly. “One day it changed and I couldn’t understand what had happened. I figured he had had some amazing breakthrough and finally understood what my intentions were to begin with.”

“What happened?”

“As it turned out, Freya is a bit ballsier than I ever gave her credit for. She went to the ward a day or so before my next visit and read Arthur the riot act. Neither of them would tell me the contents of that conversation, and still won’t, but for the first time in weeks, I heard Arthur’s voice. We looked each other in the eye and he spun the chess board around.” Will laughed out loud. “He said he was going to play my black pieces because anyone who could play himself and still not lose must’ve voodooed the board.”

Merlin couldn’t help but laugh at this. “So everything worked out?”

“I don’t know that I’d go that far. It had taken a long time to rebuild our relationship. While we’re best friends, as we always had been, our relationship hasn’t been the same. In some ways I think it’s better, in others, not so much. Sometimes I think we changed just because we’d grown up. We weren’t kids anymore, so we couldn’t have that same ‘kid’ friendship. Either way, we’re different now than we used to be.”

“And you have Freya,” Merlin said, finding it surprisingly difficult to give Will the warm smile he’d planned.

“And because of that, I think I have a better understanding of what Arthur was feeling at the time.” He looked at Merlin with an astoundingly serious expression. “I love her so much it hurts. I’ve had nightmares where she’s the one blasted from the turrets and never found again and I wake up completely drenched in sweat and unable to breathe. Sometimes I see her name on the memorial and panic. I can’t stand the thought of it without my heart pounding in my chest and my throat closing up.” Merlin felt the tears welling in his eyes again. To think he’d ever claimed Will had a heart as cold as stone. He really had grown up. And Merlin had missed it. “But here’s the difference between Arthur and me,” He turned in the seat so he could look properly at Merlin.

“When I had those nightmares, Freya was there. I could hold her. I could see it was just a dream. I didn’t have to live with it as my reality. Arthur did.” He looked at the planked floorboards of the terrace. “I probably would’ve wanted to die too.” He finished quietly.

“Will,” Merlin asked timidly, “did he… was it… did he really try to –“ he stammered.

“I never asked him and he never told me. It’s one of those things we don’t discuss. Frankly, it doesn’t matter to me. What mattered was that he needed help and I did my best to provide it.”

“What matters is that you saved his life.” Merlin said forcefully. Will looked at him quizzically and Merlin shattered as he tried to continue, “And I’m s-so sorry I left you to it alone.” He buried his face in the blanket and sobbed uncontrollably. The ferocity of his tears increased when he felt the swing jostle backward and Will’s arms surround him supportively. Merlin burrowed his face into Will’s chest and Will held him until he stopped crying. His chin rested on top of Merlin's head and his fingers worked through his hair as they swung together under the moonlight. After what seemed like hours of silence, Will finally got to his feet and stretched. Merlin looked at him with swollen eyes and a tear stained face. Will knelt down in front of him and smiled slowly.

“There’s something I should’ve done before I started screaming at you tonight,” he said remorsefully.

"What’s that?” Merlin asked between hiccups.

Will grabbed Merlin around the shoulders and crushed him to his chest. The surprise of it nearly took Merlin’s breath away and he quickly wrapped his arms around Will too. Will stood up, picking Merlin up off the swing and spinning him around on the terrace. When Will put him down, Merlin’s tears were not ones of sorrow or anger, but those of joy. Will’s eyes searched Merlin’s face, and he tugged on Merlin’s ears before hugging him again. Merlin broke into a smile so broad it nearly hurt his cheeks.

“Damn, it’s good to have you back,” Will said happily. It was nearly the best feeling in the world.


	5. Chapter 5

If anything, Merlin was a creature of habit. One thing he’d found incredibly relaxing since making Tenerife his home was the soothing quality of the rainforest weather. This was, after all, a small island in the Canaries – it had a wonderfully temperate climate, a spattering of unique tropical wildlife, and calming trails wound through the cool forest. 

Not long after arriving here, he had aimlessly followed a path through the forest from his flat. Unable to turn off the thoughts in his head, he had tried to walk them away instead. In doing so, he happened upon one of the most beautiful places he’d ever seen. About two kilometres along a rarely used trail, the forest canopy opened up to reveal the sunlight streaming through to a secluded emerald pool, complete with a modest but voracious waterfall that fed into it from some unknown mountainous stream above. The water was as clear as glass, a window into the lives of the brightly coloured fish below. Given the misty vapour produced by the waterfall and the open canopy above, this secluded bastion of tranquillity nearly always produced a rainbow. In the years that followed Merlin’s settlement on the island, that was sometimes the only thing that brought a smile to his face. 

Only the sounds of the waterfall filled the air here. Birds would fly in and out, but even they seemed to have some reverence for the location and rarely broke the tranquillity with their own voices. The silence was part of its draw for Merlin. It tended to quiet his thoughts as well, and sometimes that was all he truly wanted. His trek to this place quickly became a daily occurrence. He’d sleep with the curtains drawn open and allow the sunrise to wake him, pull on a worn pair of hiking boots, and make his way here every morning. Upon his return, he would shower, change, and prepare for whatever the day had in store. 

Why should this morning be any different? 

If ever he needed the voices in his head to cease and desist, it was this morning. With Will’s story still fresh in his mind and his conscience performing a vicious tango with his abysmal self-esteem, he needed this place today more than ever before. He looked up, allowing the morning sunlight to warm his face, and closed his eyes. He stretched his arms skyward and rolled his head around in an attempt to loosen his stiff neck. Having found the effort futile, he walked over to his flat-rocked perch, kicked off his boots, and lowered his feet into the cool water. 

“Good Morning, Aithusa,” he mumbled to the giant white fish floating around his feet. Aside from Elena, Aithusa was the most reliable friend Merlin had in Tenerife, greeting him every morning within minutes of his arrival. Of course, the fish pellets he’d started bringing along with him were rather encouraging. “Sorry, 'Thusa. I forgot your snacks back at the flat.” He smiled as the fish swam off across the pool, seeming to flip her fins at him as she went. "Oi, no need to sass me about it!” He called to her with mirth. “Lucky for you, I don’t have old Kilgharrah to come fishing with me.” 

“I have him.” 

Merlin leapt from his spot, his feet slipping on the rocky surface and nearly sending him toppling into the pool. His heart careened into his throat and his hand involuntarily grasped his neck in an effort to stop it from flying out of his mouth. In all the years he’d been coming here, he’d never once seen another soul. It was part of this place’s appeal. He spun around quickly, looking for the owner of the voice and hoping he wasn’t officially going mad. The snapping of twigs behind him confirmed that he was not alone. He turned toward the sound and saw the unmistakable silhouette of Arthur Pendragon emerging from the rainforest’s edge. 

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered and watched as Arthur brushed a leaf from his shoulder and drew himself to his full height. 

“Alive and well,” he replied with quiet, but obvious, sarcasm. 

Merlin was rooted to the spot. He didn’t have any idea what to do but he had a million questions he wanted to ask. He started with the most obvious. 

“How did you find me?”  

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “This morning or yesterday?” 

“Either,” Merlin replied, trying desperately to keep his voice as calm as possible. 

“I’ve come to realise that half of playing this ridiculous charade is in Morgana's training and the other half is dumb luck.” At Merlin’s inquiring look, he continued, “I’m here to establish a cover, of sorts. I had no idea.” Which really did nothing at all to clear up Merlin’s confusion. 

“So, you just walked into the bookshop and…” Merlin plowed on, trying to make as much small talk as he could to delay the direction this conversation was bound to take.  

“I walk into every bookshop,” Arthur muttered so quietly that Merlin almost couldn’t make out the words. Arthur’s cool gaze met his. “Actually, I’ve been here for several weeks. I would be happy to list off every place you’ve been, how long you stayed there, and what the purpose of your visit was for the past eight days of your life.” 

Merlin’s eyes grew wide and his mouth bobbed open. “So I wasn’t imagining things; someone was following me!” 

Arthur looked down, kicking a smooth brown rock toward the pool where it disappeared with a ‘plop’ into the emerald water. “All that time my father spent making sure that I was ace at hunting and tracking. Why am I _not_ surprised that you were onto me?” He asked, bemused, the slightest upward turn of his mouth visible across the distance. 

Silence fell between the two of them. Merlin didn’t dare move closer, although his heart was begging for any sign from Arthur that would encourage such a response. It didn’t come. Arthur stayed as resolutely aloof as Merlin had ever seen him. He only wished he exhibited the same composure. Surely Arthur could see his legs quivering from where he stood. 

Without any further pleasantries – if any were had to begin with – Arthur looked at him, his icy blue stare only burgeoned by the water dancing in the pool beside him. “I have to know why, Merlin.” 

Merlin's heart retreated to its proper place and his spirit sank. This was such a long and arduous story; he had no real inclination to repeat it again and Arthur had to know his reasons by now. “I’m sure Will told you my answer to that.” 

Arthur's gaze shuttered and his voice seemed to chill the air around him. “I think I’m entitled to hear it from you,” he said coolly. 

Merlin looked away, finding immediate interest in searching the water for Aithusa. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Merlin wished Arthur had never come; maybe then Merlin's memories of him would still present an Arthur that smiled warmly at him, laughed with him, hugged him; not the Arthur before him whose face was cast in stone and who’s glare reminded him of those that Arthur had often thrown at the likes of George the Perfect Prefect. Still, Merlin couldn’t begrudge him an explanation. Arthur was right. 

“That’s an awfully broad question. Is there any specific place you’d like me to start?” He replied meekly. 

“Why didn’t you let us know you were alive?” 

He had to admire Arthur for getting straight to the point, but Merlin was aware that most of his answers would not satisfy him; in the years that had passed, they rarely satisfied Merlin himself. But they were the only answers he had. 

“I didn’t know how. There had been such a big production made of the whole thing. I had no idea how to walk into your lives and tell everyone they had it all wrong.” 

“And?” 

If he wasn’t sure that Will had spoken to Arthur before, he was damn sure now. He knew where Arthur was going. It was obvious to Merlin that he hadn’t even bothered to listen to the first answer. It wasn’t the real reason anyway; Arthur apparently knew that. “Arthur, I know you think it’s selfish and stupid,” he began, “but I had to go. I had to figure out who I was. I hadn’t done anything in my life that I could call my own. I wasn’t even sure I knew how. Here I was, staring my ‘life’ in the face and I had no identity, no confidence, no clue as to where I was going. I had to find my own path.” 

Arthur’s voice was low. “We could’ve helped you with that.” 

“That’s the same thing Will said. And maybe you could have,” he raised his hands exasperatedly. “But I didn’t see it that way at the time. I thought the only way I could work through my own issues was to do it alone.” He returned his attention to the pool, watching the rippling water lap against the dark earth. 

“What were you planning to do after you figured all this out? Just walk back through the door like nothing happened?” Arthur asked incredulously. 

“I don’t know. I think that’s exactly what I thought would happen. I didn’t figure it would take so long to work the demons out of my own head. By the time I felt like I’d centred myself, nearly eighteen months had passed.” He gave Arthur a fleeting glance before returning his gaze to the forest floor. “By then it was too late to go back.” 

“Well,” Arthur looked around at their surroundings before settling a glare back on Merlin. “This place is wretched,” he said sarcastically. “I’m sure it’s been awful for you.” 

Merlin felt the tears stinging his eyes and anger rising in his chest. Part of him screamed that he had no right to be angry with Arthur and reminded himself of the story Will had told him only hours ago in an effort to temper his rage. Another part was infuriated that someone who had once appeared to love him could be so cold. “I know you won’t believe me,” he said as his voice shook, “but I truly thought that staying here permanently would be in your best interest.” 

“My best interest, or yours?” 

Merlin looked at him disbelievingly. “You and Will had moved on with your lives! I’d been gone for two years and couldn’t just walk back into our flat and say, ‘sorry I’m late, what’s for supper?’” 

Merlin was beginning to wonder if that look was part of whatever mysterious training Morgana had put Arthur through. That simple thought gave him additional insight. “I mean, look at you,” he smiled weakly, “you’re doing so well, and a - what, super spy-slash-prince? I assume that’s what this 'cover' business is all about. What would my reappearance have done other than derail the whole thing?” 

“You couldn’t have known any of that from the press,” Arthur replied swiftly. “My situation was probably the most well-guarded one in the world. None of that ever made the headlines.” 

Sometime during the conversation, Arthur had moved across the clearing. Although he wasn’t exactly near Merlin, he was closer than he had been. Typically such an action would’ve warmed Merlin completely, but Arthur did not present the image of someone here on a friendly visit. 

“I know. I looked for you in every edition of every publication I received. I was obsessed with the coverage of Will’s wedding but, quite honestly, I couldn't even tell you what he wore. I couldn’t stop searching the rags for images for you.” 

It had all come out before he realised he’d spoken aloud. He’d never had any intention of telling Arthur how he’d come to feel about him over the course of his time here. The comments that had just erupted from his mouth hijacked that plan. He looked up at Arthur timidly, attempting to assess the damage he’d caused. Arthur had an unreadable look on his face and his attention had drifted to the cascading waterfall behind Merlin. Merlin looked back down, the streaming sunlight reflecting a sparkling glimpse of gold from Arthur’s left hand. 

If he listened hard enough, Merlin could’ve heard his heart shatter into a million pieces. If he could’ve drowned himself immediately, it wouldn’t have been too soon. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said, barely audible over the streaming falls behind him. “My time here is at an end.” Merlin nodded silently, without looking up. “Is there anything else I should know before I return to Albion?” 

“Nothing that matters.” Merlin whispered. “Not anymore.” 

He closed his eyes as the tears began to stream down his cheeks. He could hear Arthur turning away, his shirt catching in the wind as he walked back across the clearing from where he’d arrived. As his footsteps grew quieter, something in Merlin began to scream. He’d kept his feelings bottled up for so long; he’d resigned himself to a life of exile for the benefit of his friends. 

He’d tortured himself long enough. 

This was the last opportunity he’d ever have to tell Arthur how he truly felt, his last chance to see if Arthur still loved him as Will had expressed. Merlin looked up to see him fading into the forest. “Arthur!” he exclaimed before he could stop himself. 

He ran across the clearing, stopping abruptly when Arthur turned to face him. “There is something else,” he said quickly, choking on the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “And it doesn’t matter anymore, I know.” He inclined his head toward Arthur's left hand. 

Arthur startled for a moment, seeming to forget he wore a shining wedding band on his ring finger and looked at it quickly as if to confirm its existence. As Merlin spoke, Arthur spun it around his finger just as Will had done the night before. “Do you want to know the truth?” 

“I thought that’s what I asked for,” Arthur replied darkly. 

Merlin screwed up every ounce of courage he had and dove headlong into the things he’d only ever told Arthur in his dreams. “After two years of soul-searching, of ‘finding myself’ or whatever, I came home one day bursting with good news for you. I couldn’t wait to tell you. I walked into my flat and realised that you weren’t there, that you would never be there and that as long as you weren’t in my life, I would never be the real me. I don’t know how long I’ve been in love with you, but I didn’t truly realise it until that moment. I couldn’t admit it for weeks,” he looked at Arthur quickly, only able to hold his eyes for a split second before finding interest in the dirt floor. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you hating me for what I’d done,” he said woefully, “so I chose to live in my own prison and let you remember me as I was, and not for what I’ve become.” 

Silence filled the space between them, eclipsing the calming sounds of Merlin’s favourite place. Compelled by the need to break the noisy silence he added, “I’m sorry. But I couldn’t let you walk out of my life forever without telling you how I feel.” 

“Regardless of what it would do to me?” Arthur asked quietly. 

Merlin hadn’t thought about that. He crumbled inside, feeling as though he’d succumbed to some horrible self-centred compulsion that continued to lead him astray. As his emotional side shut down entirely, it allowed his logical self to intercede. 

“Arthur,” he said, barely holding himself together. “You’re married now. Why should my feelings matter?” 

Arthur said nothing. 

Merlin furrowed his brows in confusion. “They don’t matter… do they?” he asked. 

For as much as he wanted to quell the feeling, for as much as his brain reminded him of the solemn vows represented on Arthur’s finger, a glimmer of hope began to build inside of him. Arthur’s silence and lack of swift response sent his heart singing. Was there a chance that Arthur still loved him? Was there even a slight chance that Merlin might get his happy ending? 

“No,” Arthur said flatly, twisting the ring around his finger again, “they don’t matter.” 

He turned on his heel and disappeared down the shadowy forest path.

* * *

This had to stop. 

For being the paradise Tenerife was considered by tourists and locals alike, for Merlin, it had seemed like more of a prison over the last four years. Since his epiphany about Arthur so long ago, he’d spent more time crying than ever before. The last twenty-four hours were no exception. 

After their impromptu meeting at the secluded pool, Merlin had somehow found himself back at his flat. He had no recollection of how he ended up there, but it was nearly afternoon by the time he’d arrived. He’d cried so much for so long and so bodily that he had nothing more to give.

Or so he thought.

But every time he determined he had finally run out of tears, they welled again. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and never wake up again. 

His life had tumbled horridly out of control and he'd lost the tenuous grip he’d maintained on happiness, which was unlikely to ever be restored. Not only did he get the full details of how his choices had negatively - and seriously - impacted his best friends; their opinions of him must have been completely shattered. In addition to that humiliation, he‘d found it necessary to tell Arthur how he feels about him, only to have Arthur admit that the sentiment was not reciprocated and then proceed to walk out of Merlin’s life forever. As Merlin walked toward the bookshop now, it was obvious his true identity was already getting around. Several people, all of whom he’d come to know, looked at him disbelievingly and pointed as he passed. It had become so unnerving that he returned to his flat almost immediately and locked the door behind him (something generally deemed unnecessary in this peaceful place). He crumpled to the floor and allowed himself to cry one more time. 

One last time. 

After he regained his composure, he fought to remember the person he’d come to know over the last few years. His secret was out. His cover unfurled. Sooner or later, it would get back to Albion that Merlin Emrys was alive and Tenerife would become a hornet’s nest of reporters and paparazzi. He stood up and crossed the door to his bedroom. He flung open the closet and pulled out the suitcase he thought he’d used for the last time. Throwing it onto the bed, he began haphazardly stuffing it with clothing. 

If his story was going to get out, it would get out on his terms. 

Albion was entirely too far to magic himself there and he couldn’t be sure that its layout hadn’t changed entirely in his absence. The last thing he needed was to smack himself into a building he didn’t know had been constructed. So, he grabbed his passport and stuffed it into his pocket. He dragged his luggage through the cottage and stopped long enough to write a short note he could send by express post on the way across town. 

_Freya,_

_If you’re Mrs. Will Waters, then I know I can trust you. I’m sure he’s told you everything by now._

_I’m coming back to Albion immediately and would like to give my exclusive commentary to_ The Courier _. I’ll be staying at the Excalibur under the name William Penn._

He stopped there, pausing momentarily before continuing, 

_You appear to have made Will the happiest man in the world. I know it sounds patronising, but thank you for everything you’ve done for him and Arthur._

_Sincerely,_

_Merlin_  

He placed the letter in an envelope and sealed it. It seemed as though only moments had passed before he had reached the airport. Wearing a hat (large enough to cover his stupidly famous ears, thanks ever so _Avalon_ ) and sunglasses, neither of which were out of place for this tropical vacation spot, he walked to the counter and arranged passage on the next available flight to Albion. Luckily, his wait would not be long. He sat down on a polished wooden bench and picked up a worn copy of _Avalon_ from the side table. He forced the tears back down as his eyes fell on a startling photograph of Arthur. He was featured in the cover story titled **Off the Market!** Apparently, his reign in the Most Eligible Bachelor column had continued well after Merlin had cancelled his subscription. He flipped through the pages, his breath catching at one particular photograph of Arthur in well-fitting jeans, a white dress shirt opened at the collar and a pair of classic Doc Martens. Even though his hair was as boyishly blonde as ever, it only added to the charm of the photograph. Merlin was so taken by it he nearly missed the boarding call. 

Tossing the magazine to the side, he grabbed his suitcase and hurried to the fourth gate on the right. He and one other person, an older man who appeared painfully sunburned, waited outside the caution zone until the jet arrived. The ramp door opened and a family of four with two children stumbled into view, the littlest one tumbling to the floor. They walked uneasily from the gate, the father hoisting one of the children up by his trousers before he was trampled by the surge of travellers exiting the ramp. After the initial crowd of returning passengers cleared the waiting area, Merlin and the older man walked over to the entrance where an attendant waited to collect their tickets. A clock on the wall counted down the time until boarding. 

He drew a breath and looked though the far door. He could just make out the corner of the bookshop where he’d been working for so long. 

10 minutes. 

He suddenly regretted having not stopped by to bid Elena farewell, but assuaged the guilt by reminding himself that he would be back to gather the rest of his things soon. 

8 minutes. 

He double checked his ticket before handing it over to the attendant. 

5 minutes. 

He drew a deep breath, wholly concerned about being recognised the second he arrived in Albion, but he closed his eyes and gathered what courage he had left. He stepped forward, onto the makeshift onramp. 

Suddenly, he felt the crushing grip of someone’s hand on his upper arm. He was jerked backward abruptly and opened his eyes. Incensed, he spun on his heel and pulled off his sunglasses. He opened his mouth and drew breath just as another hand clamped down on his mouth. He looked up, fire in his eyes, only to discover that it was Arthur looking back at him. 

“We need to talk.”


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur had nearly dragged Merlin from the station, leaving his suitcase behind. He moved quickly through town, keeping a firm grip on Merlin’s wrist the whole way. Merlin thought to ask Arthur what the rush was, but it became clear after several passers-by obviously recognised him passing in the street. Before any had the chance to gather themselves and ask for autographs, they’d left them swiftly behind. Before long, Arthur had pulled him to a secluded part of the beach that Merlin had often visited when he needed to think. Satisfied they were alone, Arthur released Merlin's wrist and stood in front of him apologetically.

“Sorry to be so abrupt,” he said quietly. “I wanted to talk to you without an audience. That can be a little difficult at times.”

“It’s alright,” Merlin replied. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Where were you going?”

“Albion,” he looked at Arthur embarrassedly, “to set things straight.”

Arthur answered him with the same low voice that Merlin had endured in the forest. But as Merlin looked at him now, Arthur’s face did not carry an equal expression. “We need to set things straight first.”

Merlin huffed and looked out toward the sea. “Well, that shouldn’t take long."

Arthur turned away and began to slowly walk along the beach, obviously waiting for Merlin to catch up. Merlin took his sandals off and began to walk in the surf next to him. They ambled along in awkward silence, Merlin frequently searching for something else to look at.

“I need to apologise,” Arthur said abruptly, looking past Merlin to a fishing trawler rising over the waves.

“Why would you need to do that?” Merlin asked in confusion.

“I’ve been less than pleasant since the bookshop. You’ve told me everything I’ve asked of you and more, and I’ve not been remotely supportive of it.”

“Arthur, you have a right to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Merlin,” he said abruptly as he stopped along the beach. His eyes broadcast a concern Merlin hadn’t seen from him in years. Arthur dropped his eyes to the sand and whispered, “I can’t do this.”

Not having the energy to muster more tears, Merlin resigned himself to the fact that this would be a short walk. As he drew breath to speak, Arthur reached across the few feet separating them and drew Merlin into his arms. “Not without doing this first,” he muttered in his ear.

Lacking energy or not, as Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin and held him against his chest, the tears sprang into Merlin’s eyes just the same. After a few minutes, Arthur stepped back and released him.

Clearing his throat softly and attempting to inconspicuously wipe a stray tear of his own, Arthur resumed their conversation. “The whole situation was just a bit of a shock. I didn’t handle it very well.”

“It’s not every day you meet a ghost,” Merlin replied, "Excepting your father, anyway." He smiled quickly and looked back to the surf kicking up over his feet. They walked together in silence, Merlin wondering what the urgency could’ve been if Arthur could amble along for long without doing what he’d proclaimed to come here for.

“Will did tell me everything,” Arthur said suddenly, “about your conversation last night,” he clarified. “I don’t really know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Arthur,” Merlin replied. “I only wish there were words in the English language to express how terrible I feel about everything that happened to you.” Arthur said nothing. “It was my fault.”

“Not all of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I could’ve chosen to handle things differently than I did. I made a lot of poor choices. You didn’t drive me to drink – or anything else, for that matter.” It was Merlin’s turn to stop. Arthur slowed and turned to face him.

The entire tone of this conversation was different than the others had been. Although he forced himself to remember that their future lie solely in friendship, Merlin couldn’t help but relish in the comfortable quality of the conversation. It had been four years, but here, on this beach, it seemed not a day had passed. That familiarity was the only reason he was brazen enough to ask the question.

He looked at Arthur wonderingly and asked, “Did you try to kill yourself?” Arthur seemed surprised at the question, yet as quickly as the surprise came, it appeared to flit away. He turned and began to walk again, Merlin quickening his pace to catch up with him. After a long moment of silence he finally answered.

“No.” Thinking better of the answer, he continued, “Well, not specifically, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not that the thought didn’t cross my mind. It did, and often. I thought of all the people that I’d lost over the years and the idea of being with Mum and my father and you… it was all very compelling.” He stopped and picked up a seashell that was glinting in the sunlight. He inspected it for a moment before throwing it into the rolling surf.

“What stopped you?”

“Mum,” he answered flatly. He looked at Merlin for a brief second and thought to expound. “She died so I could live. So did you. How could I face either of you, especially her, and try to explain that what she’d died to protect, I’d decided to throw away? The night Will found me, I’d gotten completely pissed and tripped over the hearthrug. I managed to land on the bottle that cut me. I imagine it looked very circumspect.” He chuckled to himself. “But honestly, if I was going to slit my own throat, I’d at least pick the correct side.” He turned his head and pointed to a three-inch scar along the right side of this throat. Merlin smiled softly, understanding his point. The jugular is on the left.

“Will told me about that night… and what happened afterward,” Merlin said. Arthur dropped his eyes to the sand and continued to walk without looking at him.

“Not something I’m proud of.” He admitted.

“Arthur, there’s no shame in needing help.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m not ashamed of where I was – well, not anymore. I’m ashamed of how I behaved, especially toward Will. He didn’t deserve any of that. If the situation were reversed, I don’t know that I would’ve had the courage to do what he did,” Arthur said regretfully. “He saved my life.”

Merlin said nothing. How do you reply to a statement like that?

“How’s Morgana?” Merlin asked, attempting to change the subject.

“She’s doing well. Leon finally proposed and she just published her second book," Arthur shot him a guarded grin. "But you knew that already,” Merlin thought back and realised the eyes he’d felt on him as he rearranged the new window display had been Arthur’s. “She's also the official ambassador for magic now,” he added.

“I knew that,” Merlin responded happily. “It’s brilliant for her and the magical community as a whole.”

“She’s an amazing friend. She helped me considerably after I was released from hospital.”

“How so?”

“Well, my uncle argued that a prince who required psychological treatment wasn’t really a prince at all. I couldn’t even look at the door, let alone get my foot in it, having just spent three months with the likes of The Witchfinder.” He threw Merlin a lopsided grin. “He sends his love, by the way.” Merlin laughed audibly and nudged Arthur’s arm with his shoulder as they walked.

“Anyway, Morgana pulled a few strings and had Agravain muzzled. Coming here was her idea. A way to start things off right and re-establish myself as the prince my father intended me to be,” he said proudly.

“That really is wonderful, Arthur.”

They continued to walk along the beach until Merlin felt as though they’d circled the entire island. As Arthur had indicated, they talked about everything and everyone. They stopped to sit on driftwood and throw stones into the surf. They’d stood in the rolling waves and not said a thing to each other, happy with the comfortable silence they were still able to produce. Merlin was nearly in heaven. They’d seemed to fall back into the same relationship they’d had before he'd left. As they approached the trail back to town they wordlessly decided to savour the sunset before coming off the beach. They lay down side by side and watched as the sun dipped lower on the horizon, sending vibrant orange and pink fire through the billowy clouds. Neither of them spoke as the colours of the sky melted into murky blues and dusk beset the beach.

“That’s one of my favourite things about this place,” Merlin said as the sun finally disappeared below the horizon. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Yes, it is,” Arthur replied softly. A knot formed in Merlin’s stomach. Arthur wasn’t looking at the sunset; his eyes were focused on Merlin. It was making him mildly uncomfortable. He’d run the gamut of unethical behaviour over the last few years and was not about to add adultery to the list. He gathered his composure and the courage to look upon Arthur as the rising moon played across his face and sat up. Before he could say anything, Arthur interrupted. “I have something else to apologise for,” he said sheepishly.

“What?” Merlin’s heart sank. Whatever it was, he truly hoped it didn’t ruin a nearly perfect evening.

“Mithian and I are not married.”

“What?” Merlin realised a bit too late that his voice probably carried entirely too much emotion in his response.

“She’s my beard, of sorts. It was part of Morgana’s grand plan. Agravain had been making noise about marriage – not mine, mind, but his. He wanted to build alliances. He had set his sights on Mith. Needless to say, she wasn’t thrilled about it. Apparently, she and Morgana had gone to school together when Morgana’s family was still in Switzerland. She devised a plan to run a whole covert campaign right under everyone's noses. We did interviews with The Courier, Avalon – that woman nearly broke down in tears – and convinced the whole of the world we were getting married. We came here as honeymooners to the rest of the world. To us, it was simply a way out. Mithian was safe from Agravain and I was no longer under his thumb. Being seen with Mith made it apparent that I was well past the misery I had left behind.”

Merlin’s jaw was on the sand. He realised when Arthur caught his eye and began to chuckle that he must’ve had a very odd look on his face. Arthur raised a finger to Merlin's jaw and closed it. He stood up, brushing sand off his trousers and extended his hand to help Merlin up. After a moment more, Merlin shook himself back to reality and grasped Arthur's hand to stand.

Arthur pulled him up a bit too quickly and he nearly lost his balance in the loose sand. Merlin’s chest collided with Arthur's and he felt the warmth of Arthur’s hand along his back to steady him. He looked up into his eyes and found Arthur doing the same. A flurry of fluttering butterflies erupted in his stomach and he looked away quickly.

Arthur stepped back, still holding Merlin's hand, and looked toward the trail. “Are you hungry?” He asked.

“Starving,” Merlin muttered, looking back at Arthur's face as the last vestiges of golden sunlight completely disappeared. He realised he must be staring and suddenly felt completely uncomfortable with how that response must’ve sounded. He stepped back quickly and fumbled for something to say. “There’s a great Mediterranean place in town,” he said, pointing down the path.

Arthur stepped dangerously close to him and the fluttering in his stomach reached his knees. He caught Merlin’s eye and Merlin was completely lost in Arthur's expression. For as much as Merlin wanted to, he couldn’t turn away. His eyes drifted involuntarily to Arthur’s lips as they moved.

“Sounds great,” Arthut whispered. “Let’s go."

* * *

The cool ocean breeze fluttered through his hair and played across his face as he leaned across the wooden post that supported the palm leaved roof over his head. It was the time of year when the moon seemed so imposing, so large, that if you tried hard enough, you could pluck it from the sky. He smiled to himself as he remembered a five-year old Merlin attempting to do that very thing.

The whistling teakettle drew him away from his thoughts and he stepped inside to pour the steaming water into a mug. Although most living creatures had long since drifted off to sleep, this was a time-honoured tradition for Merlin. There were few things he truly loved about his life here; passing sleepless hours on this veranda, piping hot tea in hand, was one of them.

There was no point in trying to sleep tonight.

He walked back onto the terrace and resumed his place among the post. He watched tendrils of rising steam play amid the ocean breeze before finally being swept into nothingness and thought back over the course of the last several hours. He and Arthur had made their way to Mario’s Café and passed a happily interminable supper in each other’s company. Even after he thought they’d exhausted topics to discuss, they continued to find more, never once stopping to struggle for something to say. Arthur told Merlin about his slow crawl back into royal life. Merlin told him about healing magic and his studies here. Arthur had related side-splitting stories of Will’s time with Chelsea and their mutual inability to lay off of a well-timed prank. He’d grown serious and discussed Will and Freya’s relationship and marriage. That was a subject that, for reasons unknown to Merlin, made him slightly uncomfortable. Not that he wasn’t happy for them both, but the farther he could steer the topic of conversation from the topic of love and marriage, the happier he’d be. For as wonderful as the evening had turned out, he could still hear Arthur’s last words at the forest pool ringing in his ears.

As he stood on the balcony, he relived every word, every inflection, every grin and hearty laugh they’d exchanged since Arthur had dragged him from the debarkation centre. He couldn’t help but smile. He also couldn’t help but notice the familiar prickle at the back of his neck. Someone was watching him.

He tried to hide his smile by sipping from his cup, although he was sure he wasn’t successful. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be. After all, it was probably just his imagination. Arthur had looked exhausted by the time he left Merlin at his doorstep; he was probably sound asleep by now.

But maybe...

Perhaps it was the two large glasses of wine he’d indulged in at dinner. It may’ve been the amaretto he’d surreptitiously added to the tea in his hand. Or perhaps it was the fact that he’d felt lighter this afternoon than he had in the four years he’d been here, but if Arthur was going to watch him from the hedgerows, why not give him something to see?

It was one of his well-guarded secrets. The Merlin Emrys he’d discovered while on this island loved his own body. He ran on the beach four times a week and sunbathed regularly – sometimes without the restriction of swimming trunks. While he didn’t feel as though magazines would be sending him offers to pose, he had every confidence that he was not entirely hard on the eyes. The number of men and women he’d encountered over the years were testament enough to that. He’d briefly entertained them at one point, during the time he was trying to desperately replace Arthur’s face with someone else’s. He was never successful.

His eyes dropped low as he set his mind to a seductive plot that had suddenly hatched in his mind. He raised his tea to his lips again – probably for additional courage, if nothing else – and set it down on the banister before him. As if on cue, the breeze kicked up from the shore and lightly brushed his hair away from his eyes. He slowly brushed his hand over his collar bone and up the side of his neck. He stretched languidly before reaching between his shoulder blades and slowly pulling his shirt over his head before discarding it on the veranda floor.

The tropical midnight breeze caressed his skin, chilling him just enough to have his nipples grow firm and small goose bumps to raise on his skin. Moonlight played across the contours of his lean muscles, the deep v indentions on his lower abdomen plunging into the extremely low-slung waistband of his sweats. He heard the snap of a twig below him and his heart flipped over.

Part of him, the insanely logical part, argued that he had no proof that Arthur was watching any of this. He could likely be snoring in his hotel room while Merlin was acting the seducer to an overweight tourist with a video camera. Attempting to set his mind at ease, he scanned the ground for any sign of Arthur - or Captain Camcorder, for that matter. He found nothing. The shadowed canopy of the large leaved trees did well to hide anything from his view. Deciding to split the difference between what his heart and his head were screaming, he turned and ambled to the teak swing.

Giving another fleeting glance to the ground below, certain of his instincts, he laid down on the swing, propping one leg on the far armrest while letting the other fall off the seat to allow him to push the swing. He drew his arms over his head and let them fall, placing one behind is head and letting his other fall to his stomach. The light breeze continued to meander through the terrace as he slipped a hand under the the waistband of his pants and lazily caressed his cock.

He laid there, eyes closed, methodically rocking himself back and forth in the swing until he started to feel rather unsettled. The intensity of the gaze he’d felt had become nearly tangible. His eyes snapped open and he picked his head up from the armrest to survey his surroundings. There was nothing there. Perhaps nothing had been there in the first place. Just as he was about to chastise himself for getting worked up over nothing, there was a soft knock at the door.

He swung his leg over the side of the swing and sat up, staring through the open terrace entrance to the door beyond. It was like déjà vu. Last night he’d been sitting here when the same thing happened and it had been a rather put off Will Waters. He shut his eyes firmly as the thought passed his mind that if Will had come calling again, he might’ve been treated to a very interesting show.

The knock came again. He grabbed his old hoodie and threw it on as he crossed into the cottage. Not bothering to zip it up, he flipped open the lock and opened the door a few inches.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Merlin replied as he stared into the misty blue depths of Arthur’s eyes. “I thought you weren’t coming over until tomorrow?” He said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Arthur shuffled his feet and quickly looked at the floor beneath him before returning his eyes to Merlin’s. “It’s after midnight,” he said softly. They stood there, staring at each other for a few moments, Merlin frozen with the reality that Arthur probably had seen him on the back terrace. “Can I come in?” Arthur asked.

Shaking himself back to reality, Merlin opened the door fully and beckoned him to come in. He watched Arthur walk past him, smelling of an airy, clean cologne and noticed he’d changed his clothes from this afternoon. He was wearing a pair of jogger bottoms and a tight tee that did wonderful things for his muscles. It was nearly all Merlin could do to keep his voice steady as he spoke. “Would you like some tea? I’ve just put some on.”

“Uh, yeah, that would be great, thanks,” Arthur replied unsteadily.

Grateful to have a task to busy his shaking hands, Merlin crossed into the small kitchen and reached up to pull a mug from the upper cabinet. As his arm extended to its full length, he felt a presence directly behind him. He turned his head ever so slightly to gauge Arthur’s distance and, realising he was only centimetres away, grappled with the mug as it crashed to the counter top.

“Oh!” He yelped, startled by the sound of breaking porcelain. Arthur hadn’t flinched. “Um,” he fumbled as he turned around, attempting to keep some distance between their bodies and slipping halfway out of his open jacket as he turned along the counter. Arthur’s eyes flicked downward, igniting a fire in Merlin’s stomach and sending his insides into tight knots. “I, um – I’m sorry. It slipped,” He said sheepishly. Arthur's eyes dragged upwards along Merlin’s body and he closed what little distance was separating them.

Engaging the little sense he had left, Merlin asked, “Arthur? What are you doing?”

The corner of his mouth turned upward so slightly, Merlin thought he might’ve imagined it. “Payback.”

Merlin's brows furrowed in feigned confusion. “What’re you talking about?” He asked. He stood rigidly in the hopes of not flushing a dark shade of red.

Arthur looked at him properly. “Nothing,” he said resolutely. “I’m tired of talking.”

Before Merlin could formulate a response, Arthur dipped his head and firmly pressed his lips to Merlin’s. He continued to put up the facade that he was standing there, casually, as nothing more than a friend. But his resolve was faltering as he felt Arthur’s tongue brushing gently against his lower lip. He felt Arthur's hand along his cheek. It didn’t remain there as Arthur slid it around to curl itself in Merlin's hair. His resolve shattered and he titled his head to the side and deepened the kiss. Arthur opened his mouth to Merlin's advance and they explored each other reverently.

Realising his arms were still frozen at his sides, Merlin slinked his right arm around the back of Arthur's neck, allowing it to lie haphazardly over his shoulders. He wrapped his other arm around Arthur's waist and crushed Arthur to him, their kissing quickly spiralling into a frantic need that would not be sated with mere kisses alone.

Breaking apart to breathe, they stayed locked in the embrace, their faces, lips, and eyes so close to each other it was difficult for Merlin to look upon Arthur with clear vision. Panting slightly, he heard a voice in a deep, raspy whisper call his name. “Merlin,” Arthur closed his eyes firmly. “Please say I’m not dreaming.” Arthur looked up at him, pulling his face back slightly. “This was how it was in my dreams… in all my dreams.”

“You’re not dreaming if I’m not,” Merlin replied quietly. “And if we are, we’re dreaming together.”

Arthur gave him a small smile, his hand playing in Merlin's unruly hair. “In the forest, you said that you- you,” he searched for the words.

“I said that I was in love with you.” Merlin couldn’t believe how quickly and easily the words had slipped from his mouth. Arthur's breath hitched. Merlin dropped his arms along Arthur’s shoulders and tightened the embrace, not wanting to let him go if it was his intent to pull away. It didn’t appear to be. However, as his words hung in the charged air between them, it began to unsettle him that Arthur seemed to have no response. Taking the weight of his earlier embarrassment on his shoulders again, he continued, “you don’t have to say anything.”

“I have no intention of saying anything,” Arthur replied decidedly. Before Merlin could reply, Arthur bent down and scooped Merlin up in his arms, walking back through the terrace doorway and sitting down on the teak swing with Merlin still clutched in his arms. He slid sideways, pulling Merlin along with him, and tangled their legs together.

Lying face to face like this, Merlin could plainly see the love he felt for Arthur reflected back at him in the darkening blue of Arthur's eyes. “Arthur,” he whispered through the knot in his throat. Arthur crushed his lips to Merlin’s and slid his hand into Merlin's loose sweater, slowly dragging his searing hand over Merlin's stomach and up his chest. Gently pressing Merlin further down into the seat of the swing, he scraped his fingers across Merlin's chest, stopping only to tease his erect nipples. Merlin broke from the kiss and buried his face in Arthur's neck in an effort to muffle the involuntary moans Arthur's teasing assault elicited. Not one to miss an opportunity, Arthur seized his mouth along the column of Merlin's neck, sucking a trail of bruises down his throat and over his collarbone.

Merlin could feel beads of precum soaking his pants as Arthur continued to slide his hand all the way up to the neckline of Merlin's jacket. Looking up at Merlin only briefly, he dragged it down the length of Merlin's arm, fully exposing his chest to him. Merlin’s eyes rolled back in his head as Arthur dropped his mouth to his erect nipple and began licking at him wantonly. Merlin clasped a hand in Arthur's blonde hair and delighted in feeling him bob up and down as he sucked harder, devouring him entirely.

Unable to fight the compulsion, Merlin used his free hand to pull at Arthur’s shirt. Taking the hint, Arthur pulled back and sat upright to pull it off over his head. The shock of what lie beneath left Merlin’s mouth agape. Following his eyes, Arthur looked at the silver sigil that hung on a chain around his neck and quickly slipped a finger under it, pulling it over his head.

With a contented expression, Arthur slipped the chain around Merlin's neck and guided it over his heart and down his chest. Merlin looked at the familiar charm in disbelief. “The time Will held it for me is the only time it’s ever left my neck.” Merlin's misty eyes snapped back to Arthur’s and a shudder moved up his spine from the expression on Arthur's face.

Arthur looked at him with the darkest measure of desire in his eyes and pulled the other side of Merlin's sweater down his arm. Without another word, he dipped his head and flicked his tongue across Merlin's other nipple as he’d done with the other. Gasping, Merlin grabbed at Arthur's hair and tugged to pull Arthur off before he completely lost his composure.

Arthur pulled up at his silent request and looked at Merlin with an infectious grin. Comprehension dawned and Merlin lowered his eyelids sceptically. “I do believe you’re teasing me, Pendragon.”

“No more than you did.”

Merlin's face lit up in a moderately embarrassed smile. “You were watching me.”

“I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

The smile slid from Merlin's face as his expression grew serious. “Sadly, your eyes are not the part of you I’m interested in right now.”

Arthur’s eyes darkened and his voice grew hoarse. "Merlin," he asked quietly, "what do you want?”

The tears sprang to his eyes involuntarily and Merlin tried valiantly to fight them back. He was successful for the most part. Only one escaped and Arthur wiped it away as it trailed down Merlin's cheek. “I want the only thing I’ve ever wanted, Arthur." Merlin whispered, "You.”

Arthur’s eyes turned glassy. He wound an arm under Merlin's shoulders, lifted him up, and slid the remainder of Merlin’s hoodie off of his shoulders. Arthur dove for Merlin's mouth and they wrapped their arms around each other as their tongues collided. Merlin couldn’t help the moans that were issuing from his throat as his chest slid against Arthur’s. His urgent noises only seemed to encourage Arthur’s desire. He could feel Arthur's erection straining against his shorts.

Merlin reached down, allowing his fingers to drag down Arthur’s stomach and below his waistband. He slid his hand down the front of his pants and relished in the gasp Arthur expelled as Merlin’s hand wrapped around him tightly. Several quick strokes had Arthur resting his forehead against Merlin's, his breath a series of heavy pants against Merlin's cheek. Merlin eased his hand out of Arthur's joggers and slid off of the swing before guiding him into a sitting position and dragging Arthur's pants down to pool at his ankles. Merlin made a space for himself between Arthur's thighs and continued his gentle exploration of Arthur's cock with his tongue. Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed and his jaw dropped open as his breathing became more rapid.

Merlin stared at him, mesmerised by the slackness of Arthur's face while he ran his tongue along the tip, drawing the beads of precum along Arthur's shaft and down around his balls. The scent of him was dizzying and Merlin was completely intoxicated by it. He was an absolute mess, cum and saliva dripping down his chin and leaving a soaking trail down Arthur's cock. He looked up at Arthur through his lashes and warmed at the sight of him. Arthur was completely undone, his pupils blown wide and a light flush high on his cheeks. With a strangled moan, Arthur tugged Merlin up off the floor and his hands quickly found the only piece of clothing Merlin still had on. Slowly, Arthur hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Merlin's sweats and dragged them down and off of his hips before pulling Merlin forward to straddle his lap.

Merlin clasped his hands behind Arthur's neck and kissed him, almost shyly. Arthur hummed and pulled away, and Merlin's mind drifted to the thought of Arthur thrusting inside of him just as he felt Arthur's fingers began moving seductively up his thighs and down around his balls. Before he could reengage his brain, Arthur slid a spit-slick finger inside of him.

He threw his head back, the feel Arthur's fingers inside of him entirely too erotic for him. All rational thought slipped away and he voiced the only desire he could still grab onto. “Arthur,” he panted as a single finger became two, then three and were worked back and forth, casting searing sparks through Merlin’s abdomen. “I want you to fuck me,” he dropped his head back down and devoured Arthur with an impassioned kiss. “Now,” he whispered between kisses. He sat up and spread his legs on either side of Arthur's thighs, lifting up onto his knees and lewdly licked his palm before reaching down to grab Arthur's cock.

For a moment, neither spoke nor moved. They merely stared at each other across what seemed to be an impossible distance. Merlin was sitting upright on his legs, straddling Arthur mere inches from where he wanted to be. Arthur's head was laid back along the swing and tilted to the side. All they had needed to say had been said. All the questions they’d wanted to ask had been answered. It remained only Arthur and Merlin as the rest of the world drifted away and the lazy ocean breeze tried unsuccessfully to chill the heat that had exploded between them.

Wordlessly, Merlin rose higher on his knees, his eyes never leaving Arthur’s, and leaned forward to capture his mouth. They pressed their lips together softly, if not reverently, and Arthur's eyes fluttered closed. He could feel the heat from Arthur’s hard length tickling his hole and without further hesitation, slid down on top of him.

Merlin hissed at the burn of the intrusion, willing his body to adjust before he completely lost it. It had been so long. The feel of Arthur inside of him was nearly more than he could take. Arthur was so long, so hard, and so hot that Merlin’s body started moving without his permission, desperate to feel Arthur fill him repeatedly. Merlin pulled himself up on his knees, only to bury Arthur inside of him again and again.

Arthur's fingers dug into Merlin’s hips – whether willing him to stop or move faster, Merlin didn’t know. He couldn’t think, he could only feel. His hands rested on Arthur’s shoulders as he continued to move over him with a maddeningly slow force.

Merlin moaned and clenched himself around Arthur tightly. Arthur’s eyes popped open. The familiar blue of his eyes had darkened to a shade Merlin had only seen in the midnight sky as Arthur began to buck under him.

"Yes,” Merlin moaned as his eyes rolled back in his head and he looked to the palm leaved fan spinning above him. The swing began to squeak rhythmically as Arthur continued to drive himself farther and farther into Merlin. “Oh, God, Arthur. Don’t stop,” he begged as fire erupted in his stomach and began shooting waves of pleasure through his legs. Arthur didn’t. Rather, he grasped Merlin’s hips and began pulling him down as he thrust upward. He opened his eyes to see Arthur’s head thrown back on the swing and his face contorted in ecstasy. The mere sight of Arthur so lost in him was enough to send Merlin over the edge. The roiling fire in his stomach exploded in an inferno of pleasure and he heard his own moans eclipse the gentle sounds of the sea.

He shuddered violently and his body clamped around Arthur, pulling him over the edge as a strangled moan escaped his throat. He felt Arthur explode inside of him. His face fell slack and Merlin collapsed on top of him, his arms encircling Arthur tightly as the swing rocked contentedly back and forth.

Of all the things Arthur had said to him, of all the questions Arthur had asked, there was one thing left that Merlin suddenly felt compelled to say. He wrapped his arms around Arthur’s shoulders and buried his face in his neck. “I’ll never leave you again.”

Arthur’s arms tightened around him like a vice grip, seeming to want to hold onto Merlin lest he vanish before his eyes. It was only after that Merlin realised that the wetness falling on his cheek wasn’t from the sweat glistening along Arthur’s body, but from the silent stream of tears trailing down his face.


	7. Epilogue

Sometimes it startles me to think about how much my life has changed in the last five years. A year ago, I could never have imagined my life being as happy as it is today. Contentment seemed like a fantasy tantamount to winning the national lottery or being struck by lightning on a sunny day. I think back on the course of my life over the last five years and it gives me great pause. Frankly, it’s presented me with a bit of a philosophical dilemma.

My father used to talk about choices. He put so much stock in the free will of the people. He believed that the choices we made, made us who we are. Choice could overcome bloodlines; it could overcome environment and upbringing. We make our choices and live with the consequences – a matter of cause and effect, I suppose. Only now I think about what I’ve been through, the choices I’ve made, and I wonder if it makes any difference at all. Maybe it’s choice. Maybe it’s fate.

If I hadn’t chosen to fall apart, if I hadn’t chosen to shut people out and drink myself into a shallow grave, Will wouldn’t have made the choice he did. Without him, I don’t know that I would’ve survived Merlin’s “death”. If I hadn’t chosen to move on – regardless of how I felt about it – and attempt to take my place on the throne as my father had intended, I never would’ve ended up in Tenerife. I never would’ve found him after four years. The catalyst to it all was Will's choice, not mine. Does that make it fate? Does Morgana's masterminding ways make it destiny? I don’t know, but I shudder to think how different my life would be today had I or Will or Morgana decided differently just one of those times.

Maybe it’s true what they say about soul mates – regardless of the paths they walk, they will inevitably find each other. You cannot live without your soul mate. That, I believe. I surely did not, and could not have continued to, live without mine.

It wasn’t even my choice to forgive him for having left; I couldn’t help myself. I was infuriated for days before I even spoke to him. When I did, it was all I could do to will myself to remain as resentful as possible. It was a difficult job. All I really wanted to do was wrap my arms around him and never let him go again. I’m glad I finally did. Actually, I’m surprised I resisted the urge as long as I did.

I know he’ll never get over the guilt of having left. I know Merlin. I know him better than I know myself. It’s still there, lurking behind his eyes, hiding behind his endearing smile. Guilt. I don’t know that he’ll ever be rid of it, so it’s all I can do to remind him every day how lucky I am to have him back, how much I love him. On more than one occasion, I’ve seen his thoughts drift to “the dark place” as I’ve deemed it. The I’ve-wasted-so-much-time-with-you place that doesn’t serve any purpose other than to break his heart and cause him to question his own character. As time has passed, he seems to visit that place less and less. Eventually, the day will come when we realise we’ve lasted a full twenty-four hours without thinking about the past. After all, everything must come full circle sooner or later. Just look at Will.

At the time, I didn’t find it nearly as interesting as I do now, but he’s really come full circle from our childhood. I remember being horribly jealous, if not resentful, of his relationship with Freya. He had the one thing I truly wanted, the one thing I couldn’t have. All the money, fame, and power in the world couldn’t bring me what he had on a daily basis. I think back to our days at school and wonder if that wasn’t exactly the way he felt about me. It must have been; and I think he realised it too. He took great care not to flaunt his relationship in front of me. They were always reserved when I was around, acting more like friends than lovers. But neither of them could conceal their feelings for very long. On more than one occasion, I found a reason to leave early. I have no doubt they tore each other’s clothes off by the time I’d walked to my flat. This experience allowed us to do what we never had been able to do in the past: trade places. That’s made all the difference in our friendship. That’s what made us grow up.

“What are you doing out here all by yourself?” A warm and inviting voice interrupts my thoughts. I can’t help but smile. I could live every moment of every day just listening to him speak.

“I was just thinking,” I reply, turning my head to see him stepping out onto the terrace. Well, our terrace, technically. Not that he knows that yet.

“This place brings back a lot of memories, doesn’t it?” He asks, casting a quick eye toward the porch swing in the corner. I nod my head in assent and offer a stroll down memory lane.

“Let’s go for a walk.” I’m smiling at him like I always do when I’m trying to get my way. He has no force of will against ‘the grin’. Unsurprisingly, he takes my hand and leads me toward the front door.

“I still can’t believe this cottage was never purchased after I left,” he says, giving it a backwards glance. “It’s a lovely place and it’s just sat here for a year gathering dust.”

“Maybe we should buy it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Arthur. Your place in Albion is perfect. I’ve loved every minute there.”

He’s missing my point. “I know, but we chose to come here to escape the media frenzy back home. Maybe we should think about buying a permanent getaway for times when we’re too popular for our own good.”

He laughs. “Maybe, but I think most of the media circus has finally packed in their tents, don’t you? I mean, it’s been a year since I appeared as the headline in every publication known to man. I think the worst is over.” I heard what he said, but, frankly, I’m much more interested in the way his arse looks in those shorts. “Arthur, are you listening to me?”

Damn. Foiled again.

“Every word, love. I just think the media will never be done with us. There will always be some part of our lives they find fascinating.”

“I rather think they’d be sick of it by now.” He’s completely clueless. 

He continues to babble on about how much Tenerife has changed in the year he’s been away and I deftly steer him down the path I’d intended when I suggested this little hike. I’d never seen such a beautiful place in my life and have dreamt about it many times in recent months. I’ve never told him about those dreams. I had always planned to show him instead.

I don’t know that I’ll ever tell him why the overlook where his memorial stood was so special to me. In the months preceding the battle with the Cailleach, I’d made meticulous plans for us there. It’s always so quiet, secluded, and peaceful – or was, before I asked to have his memorial placed there. It was the perfect place to tell him how I felt about him, to show him for the first time… and, eventually, to ask him to marry me. I’d intended for all of those things to happen in that place.

Best laid plans, you know.

But the first time I saw him here, in this secluded forest, every dream I’d created was transplanted to this place. As it is, I’ve told him how I feel about him; I’ve certainly shown him many times. That really only leaves one thing undone.

“Arthur,” he says excitedly as we reach the emerald pool. “I’d forgotten how much I missed this place!” He drops my hand and nearly skips to the pool’s rocky edge. He drops down on all fours, peering into the crystal water. It only takes a moment before he lights up like a child on Christmas morning. “Aithusa!” He exclaims. “You’re still here!” A massive fish bobs up to the surface and lazily glides away. Merlin follows her progress, laughing and splashing water after her.

I’m struck speechless with the reminder of how completely in love with him I am. He flops over and pulls of his sandals, dipping his feet in the water and drawing a contented breath. He extends a hand toward me and silently invites me to join him. My heart is in my throat. Why am I so nervous? I know the answer before I even ask the question. It’s not like he’ll refuse.

So why can’t I breathe?

I settle down behind him and he curls into my chest, kicking his feet in the water playfully. The moment is upon me and I have completely lost the ability to speak.

Check that. I’m not sure I can even think.

His head is against my chest; surely the hammering of my heart will draw his curiosity sooner or later. We sit in comfortable silence, staring at the waterfall, listening to the sound of the bubbles popping on the water’s surface as they float away from the torrent. He wraps a free arm around me as I kiss the top of his head and he hums a sigh of contentment. That made all the difference in the world.

“Merlin?”

“Yes, Arthur?” That’s a good start. Those are the same words I’d like to hear at the end of this speech. I draw a breath; I have no idea what to say. I’m technically flying by the seat of my pants.

“So much has happened to us over the course of the last few years.” He sits up and looks at me concernedly. I’m willfully making a reference to subjects we normally avoid. I adjust my position so I can look at him properly. Why is looking at him so difficult?

“But, if given the chance, I don’t know that I would change any of it.” His face furrows in confusion. “I fell in love with you in sixth form, but I’m not entirely sure that I knew what that meant. I think that, to a seventeen-year-old boy, love is just the word they use when they can’t describe how much they really like someone. After you were gone, I came to understand those feelings for what they were. I was humbled by the power behind them, if not nearly destroyed by it.” He looks away, that familiar ghost of guilt crossing his face. That’s not what I want! I put a finger under his chin and pull his eyes back to mine.

“But I think it’s exactly what I needed. I wasn’t ready. I never dealt with my mother’s death. I wouldn’t deal with my father's. I shoved those emotions into a closet already stuffed full of issues regarding guilt, destiny, and love.” His eyes are welling with tears. Either he’s the most empathetic sorcerer in the world or he’s figured out where this is going.

“I think the choices you made helped bring us to this place today. It forced me to deal with issues I’d never addressed. It helped me get through my past and ready myself for the future I so desperately want to share with you.” The tears have leaked from his eyes and I try to brush them away as I talk. This is supposed to be a happy occasion; I can’t stand to see him cry.

“You said it took you two years before you realised you were in love with me. I think it took all four before I was ready to be loved. I think I didn’t find you – couldn’t have – any sooner than I did.” Now it’s my voice that’s faltering. I’m staring down the single most important question of my life and it’s scaring the hell out of me.

“The second I saw you in that bookshop, I knew I couldn’t live without you. Every minute of every day that feeling grows. Sometimes, I just want to grab you and refuse to let go. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought to abdicate or put my foot down regarding state visits because I can’t stand to be away from you. But I know I can’t do that. So, I thought, perhaps…” I start to pull the box from my pocket. Please, if there’s a higher power out there, do NOT let me drop it in the pool. He’s pulled entirely away from me; his hands are clasped over his mouth.

I’m not entirely sure he’s breathing.

“… rather than hold onto you for the hours I’m supposed to be at work, I could just hold you for eternity.” I pop the box open and hold it out for his inspection. Judging from the look on his face, I did well. I’m growing concerned that he’s not saying anything, merely staring at the ring amid a flurry of tears. It dawns on me suddenly that I’ve not actually asked him the question yet, so of course he can’t reply. Damn. How could I get to the end of this speech and forget to ask the bloody question?

“Will you marry me?”

He extends a shaky hand toward the box and out of sheer concern that the insurance hasn’t taken effect yet, I pull it out for him, dropping the box to the ground. Silently, although I doubt my expression is well masked, I shout a victory cry from the top of my lungs. Not only is he nodding his head furiously in assent, he’s apparently been rendered speechless! I, me, Arthur Pendragon, have finally managed to shut up Merlin Emrys!

It doesn’t get much better than this.

I slide the ring onto his finger, as his eyes seem wholly incapable of looking anywhere else. It’s a simple platinum band that will match the wedding band I’ve commissioned, made from my mother's ring. I know it’s a bit over the top, but I have my reasons.

First, if he’s going to be the husband of Arthur Pendragon, I can’t very well embarrass myself. I am loaded, you know. Second, I want every man and woman alive to see the rocks glinting on his hand before they get within ten paces of him. I saw him first! He’s mine! Most importantly, what girl (and Merlin really is a giant girl) hasn’t squealed in delight over the size of the ring on her hand? Well, he may not have a rock rock, but he’ll have a whole wedding band full of them. That makes me totally brilliant, right? Because he has more than one?… Anyway, I want him to have everything his heart desires and if that happens to be a row of sparkling diamonds, so be it. Nothing is too good for him. By the time I’m done impressing myself, I realise he’s finally looked up from the hand extended before him.

I know that look. I was wrong. It does get better than this.

He leans toward me slowly, perching himself on his crossed legs as he gently caresses my lips with his own. Casting a fleeting (and totally unnecessary) glance around the clearing, I pull back from him – flashing him ‘the grin’ as deftly as possible.

“What?” He inquires.

I pepper his lips with soft kisses. “How about a swim?” I expect him to be confused or to roll his eyes. But his voice is as sexy as I’ve ever heard it.

“But, Arthur, darling. I’m not wearing a swimsuit!” Honestly! What would be the point in that? He’s not going to be wearing anything when I’m through with him.

"Luckily, this is a clothing optional beach.” His hands brush along my waist, sending my abdominals into a frenzy as he draws my shirt over my head and discards it easily. Not wishing to be left behind, I raise my hand to his shirt, only to have him push it away.

“Not yet,” he whispers, his breath hot in my ear. His lips find the juncture of my neck and shoulder and he begins to suck, nipping me sensuously as I feel myself rising to the occasion. He puts a hand under my elbows and beckons me to stand up – obviously not realising that I’m in less than a position to do so than I was five minutes ago. However, I won’t begrudge him a thing, especially not when he’s gnawing on my neck like that. With unsteady legs, I stand up, wrapping my arms around him and pulling his shirt to the side of his neck. Two can play this game.

He makes that quiet squeak I find thoroughly endearing and stumbles toward the flat-rocked outcropping I first saw him on. Without hesitation, he pops my belt loose and slides his hands along my outer thighs, dragging the rest of my clothing down with them. I realise briefly how awkward this is for me. I’m not used to being the one completely naked while the other is dressed. But it doesn’t last long. He sits me down on the rock before him and runs his hands seductively along his own body, reaching up to remove his shirt.

His eyelids are heavy with desire and he slowly pulls his blue tee over his head. He smirks when he realises I’m staring and takes a small step to the side, turning slowly, yet keeping his eyes trained on me. Allowing his hands to run along his sides on the way, he drops his hands to his waist and drags his shorts down to the ground. My breath leaves me entirely as I realize he’s not wearing a stitch of clothing underneath those shorts.

Maybe he wasn’t as clueless as I thought.

I find myself licking my lips, craving to touch him as he turns back to face me and slowly allows his shorts to slide down his body until he’s standing before me in all his wondrous glory. I’ve grown painfully hard and am shaking with anticipation. I have to touch him. I need to touch him.

I reach out to him, only to have him grab my hand as he kneels down in front of me. Kissing the inside of my wrist, he slides backward off the smooth rock and into the crystal pool behind him. The sight of him partially submerged in the water, droplets clinging to his chest, is more than I can stand. I move forward to join him, only to have his hands planted firmly on my hips.

He smiles at me seductively as his eyes trail their way southward. I’m as hard as the rock I’m sitting on and he appears to have noticed. He steps up between my legs and my brain suddenly realises what he’s about to do. 

His hands wrap around the small of my back as he pulls me to the very edge of the stone. Before I can comprehend what he’s doing, he leans forward, hands sliding down my thighs, and I feel his hot wet mouth surround me. The sensation sends shockwaves of heat through my body and I twitch involuntarily as his silky tongue licks my shaft lazily. It’s all I can do to stay propped up on my arms, but that won’t last either.

Just as I begin to think the feeling of him lapping at me can’t get any better, he wraps his lips around my cock and begins to suck. My left elbow loses the ability to hold me upright as his head begins bobbing in my lap, sucking harder each time he pulls up.

For being as generally reserved as I am, I can’t help the raspy moans that issue from my throat in harmony with his ministrations. It doesn’t make my task any easier. Apparently, the sound of my pleasure turned him on as well, and he begins taking me into his mouth deeper, licking me, sucking me, until I’m a hair’s breadth away from losing my composure altogether. When the vibrations of his moaning ripple along my cock, I quickly tug his hair and pull him off. That was too good to risk turning him off with an ill-timed release.

I slide off the stone outcropping into the water with him. He says something to me, but I honestly don’t hear it. I’m too turned on. I’m so close that not even the cold water manages to break my concentration. I want one thing, and one thing only.

I don’t want to have sex with Merlin. I don’t even want to make love to him. I’m too far gone for that. I want to fuck him. And he seems more than willing.

I pull him close to me, grabbing his waist though the slippery water of the tropical pool. Feeling my own desire reach a pinnacle, I turn his back to the smooth outcropping, finding that it extends downward at a gentle slope. I press him against it fully. I’m unable to speak, unable to think, only able to feel his body beneath me and hear him panting in my ear.

He crushes his lips to mine and wraps his legs tightly around my waist. Needing no more invitation than that, I plunge myself into him, relishing in the gasp that comes screaming from him. Regardless of the temperature in the pool, Merlin is steaming hot and so tight I’m liable to lose control immediately. I can only hope he’s as close as I am because I’m entirely unable to stop.

He starts to moan and gasp with each thrust. Dear God, he’s calling my name with that throaty, deep voice over and over. I can’t stop myself. I bury myself in him, only to pull out and plunge into him again. Harder, quicker, faster, deeper. The waves from my movements are slapping against the rocks and he suddenly clenches around me furiously, a strangled cry piercing the sounds of this serene little place as he comes. His body grabs at me over and over until I’m unable to maintain control and finally let go, his name floating over the echo of his screams.

I clutch him to my chest, suddenly concerned that I might have hurt him. He grabs at my back, trying to hold me tighter as we both float back to Earth together. His body stops shuddering and I gently pull out, kissing him all over his face and neck. He lays his forehead on my shoulder.

“Did I hurt you?”

His head rolls from side to side on my shoulder. “You have permission to hurt me like that anytime you’d like.” I can’t help but smile. I want to scream at the top of my lungs, “and he’s marrying me!” but I settle for picking up his head and kissing him resolutely on the lips instead.

“Arthur,” he says, finally breaking contact and smiling contentedly at his ring.

“Yes?”

“Let’s buy the cottage. The media is going to have a field day with this.”


End file.
